Homeward Bound
by juliasejanus
Summary: Sixteen year old Alex Rider has lived for two years in Russia, as the son of adopted son of the late General Sarov. The CIA wants to tie up the loose ends from Skeleton Key. Alex is going back to America. What will they make of the young man that has survived political games and MI6's aborted kidnapping. Continuation of A General's Son and followed by Sleeper Awakens
1. Chapter 1

Mark Henridge was on the fast track promotions as a compliance manager in the State Department finance department, only he was also a mole for Russian State Security. Ten years since his considerable gambling debts had been paid by his college professor, ten years since the KGB had owned him body and soul. His data stick was left in its usual dead drop. In three days he's receive his payment and most likely lose it playing poker as his luck had been abysmal lately. Why did he still do this to himself, he could not play for shit. As he walked back to his car two men started following him, two more were stood by his car. The rollercoaster ride was over, the FBI had caught their leak, now they would squeeze him for every detail to turn him and bring down his support network. There had been a series of leaks across several departments, the lead investigator knew Henridge would be the key to finding the common thread in this espionage web.

…

"General, the chess master has been arrested. The CIA have said they will trade, as we have two of their agents in custody."

The Chief of Directorate One of Federal State Security was burning the midnight oil trying to savage his Washington operation. The chief recruiter at Georgetown had been arrested after 35 years of sterling work, luckily the replacement recruitment operation was already up and running, but that network was in its infancy. Their recruiter was an old man, planning on retiring in the Fall. Now, he was in prison. "I understand they want to free Gillings, but we have no other CIA agent in custody?"

The aide then stated the American's request "They want Sarov's son."

"But the boy's adoption was legal! Anyway, Alexander was blackmailed into operations by MI6. He's under our protection not arrest!"

"Shame we can't send them the imposter."

"Thankfully we don't have to worry about those clones anymore." Those lookalikes were just too much of a liability. "Find out more about why they want this boy back. I will not use him as a bargaining chip for them to force him back into spying."

….

His ward's bed had not been slept in, again. Alex had most likely gone over the wire again. Forest for hundreds of miles in all directions and two groups of guards on exercises poising a clear and present danger to the teenager. Last time, the boy had just gone hunting. This time the Colonel was not so sure it was something so innocent. The sixteen year old was both bored and lonely, a bad combination for one so active and bright. The situation exasperated by the fact Dima had again chosen to stay with school friends for the holidays, not his godfather nor his oldest friend. Ivan, the doctor had passed on concerns about Alex's loss of appetite, irregular sleep patterns and moodiness, indicating the young man was depressed. "No weapons are missing, I hope, Sergeant."

"All stores present and correct. No equipment missing. No reports of anything stolen. No rations missing from the kitchens either. Alex only has his normal clothes, no survival equipment."

The fifty-two year old FSB officer would wait 24 hours before sending out tracking teams. The man reached beneath the pillow and pulled out the boy's journal, the last week of entries filled with plans for fishing, hunting and ideas for entertainment to keep Dima amused, only for his godson to again decline the long journey east. This base was not home to either boy. Detested by the young son of the late General Ivanov as the most boring place in the universe and little more than a prison to the adopted son of the late General Sarov.

Valentin Levchenko was failing as a father figure to both boys. Alex stuck in limbo after that incident at school , without any friends, as Dimitry partied, dated girls and lived the life a teenager should. Alex only living at this top secret facility at the insistence of Dima. His godson had forgotten all his promises to be a good older brother to his one time rescuer.

…..

Alex had made it to the lake five miles east of base. Here was a basic shelter constructed last May Day by two firm friends, during their first few weeks in exile. They had swum, hunted, fished, cooked on the camp fire, slept under the stars. They had made up stories and talked of past adventures. Alex had lasted less than six weeks at boarding school, where Dimitri stuck with his old friends, ignoring Alex; whose only crime had been to excel at sports, the firing range and at all things military. After a few weeks in hospital the outsider had returned to deepest, darkest Siberia and the two friends and spent less and less time together. Colonel Levchenko had gone on trips with Dami to Moscow and Vladivostok, leaving Alex behind.

There were supplies, tins wrapped in plastic, still edible and unrusted after winter, but the sleeping bags were ruined. He picked up the tin of plums and tin of stew. The only rations here. He did not want to scavenge for his supper. He only had his swiss army knife and no rifle today, anyway. He crawled into the shelter as the first drops of spring rain fell and waited for the storm that had been forecast to strike.

Alex thought back over the last seven months, time spent ignoring his past and merely existing in the present. He had no illusions over the future, Dimitry had already broken his promise of family and Valentin was more jailer than father. It was only a matter of time before he was back in the psychiatric hospital again, probably for good. The teenager shuddered at his own stupidity which had resulted in exchanging boarding school for six weeks in hell. He looked at the scars on his wrists, a lifetime's reminder that he had tried to kill himself. How was he meant to react in a school of well adjusted pampered Russian kids, when he was the ultimate odd one out at war with himself, wanting to turn back tine and be back in Chelsea, but stuck pretending to be the son of a general. All at Suvorov comparing him to his adopted father and long dead perfect Vladimir, all understanding he was grieving. Guilt ate at him as he only thought of that man's death as freedom. He'd have been ok at school if Dima had stuck to the game plan, only his friend had fallen back with his old pals, forgetting Alex. Alone and isolated, unable to connect to his classmates, the London born imposter had stopped eating. Two weeks on he had collapsed during a cross country run, put on house report, when he'd taken his house captains words literally when told to be more like his father and brother. Both Sarov's dead, Alex had tried to join them.

The clinic had treated him as depressed and grieving, not understanding that Alex had no idea who he was anymore, nor what he was meant to be. Exile in the far reaches of Siberia was like burying everything and just existing day by day. Helped by the fact he was treated like a lucky mascot by the soldiers in exile with him.

It rained for nearly a day and a half. Maybe he would get back in time for dinner tonight. Then see what punishment was in store. He had so few privileges left. No TV, no radio, no internet, not that Dima not answering email or texts, so he did not miss his computer nor his phone. He was cold and hungry. Only a mile to the road, no need for stealth when returning. If he was really lucky he might even get a lift.

Aleksandr Sarov was tall and thin, his short cropped blond hair hidden under a black wooden hat, dressed in black trousers and jacket. He used the deer path to travel south to the road, The mud crept up to his mid calf, making it slow going. He was shivering and throughly miserable. The escape to the forest had been no fun on his own. His clothes soaking, his boots wet through as well.

He had forgotten about the drainage ditch beside the road. Luckily their narrow plank bridge was still there. In his mud caked boots, the wet plank was treacherously wet. He had almost made it to safety, when he slipped. His arm hitting the concrete edge of the ditch and his head hit the plank. He woke and took a lungful of black rank water. Coughing as he surfaced, his mind active on how to get out of this death trap. A tree stump was in the ditch 50 metres away, he could use that to climb out.

In the twilight, the weekly supply truck made its way from the main army base fifty kilometres north-west of Telemetry Station Beta. Inside was the intern, Lieutenant Grishkov and the usual driver, Konstantin Hursa. As the last rays of the sun hit the wet tarmac, the keen eyed former paratrooper slowed down wondering what the black lump was, too small to be a bear. He prayed it was not Sasha, all at the base knew the boy had gone wandering. Surely he would have returned home yesterday.

The nineteen year old officer, fresh from the Academy, woke with a start as the truck door slammed shut. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes he noted the darkening trees. The driver stepped back into the cab he queried sharply "Why have we stopped?"

"There's someone lying in the road. Its the Colonel's ward." The driver was on the radio, using code words for a medical emergency and their location. He then turned to the youngster, his supposed superior officer and started giving firm suggestions. "Got any medical training? Time for your first real life emergency. Hand me the kit under your chair and bring the blankets from the overhead cabinet."

…

Ever polite and well connected, Roman Petrushkov was the player behind the Prime Minister and the President of the Russian Federation. A man that did not give media interviews nor held any public office, but one that wielded real power. This morning he was taking tea with His Excellency the Ambassador of the United States of America. Accompanying him was Boris Kiriyenko, the former President, and personal friend of President and the Secretary of State; also acting as Alexander Sarov's guardian angel.

Small talk and pleasantries passed between the men, all speaking English. It was Boris who started playing hard ball. "It is barely a year since my good friend Alexei Sarov passed, why does the CIA still think they can play God over his son?"

The Ambassador had the cold feeling that he had been kept out of the loop on Washington dirty dealing, "Please tell me what the hell is going on?

….

Roman Petrushkov phoned his protégée Valentin Luchenov, to sound out the proposed trade that would send Sarov's adopted son back to America. The political player already knew Alex was not happy with his present living arrangements, he never directly complained, but the boy's depression was a key indicator that he was misplaced and very lonely.

"Good morning Valentin Illych it's been months since we last spoke, does exile suit you?"

"It is always good to hear from you Roman Nikolayevich, as always both yes and no. I fear Dimitry hates it here. However I enjoy my work and I have an excellent team. I was going to call you today anyhow. Alex had an accident yesterday. He fell into a ditch breaking his arm, cracking several ribs, bashed his head and losing two teeth. He needs to transfer to a hospital for surgery on his arm, it's a mess, both bones broken twice. He may have other complications as well from numerous leech bites.."

The general asked the most pertinent question "Is he well enough to travel long distance?"

"The doctor assures me he'll need medical assistance, but yes he could travel to Moscow."

"A jet will be standing by at the supply airstrip at 2, have him transferred there. You have done your best but I think a change in guardianship is recommended. I will look into having you posted to Odessa, closer to Dimiyry. Do not worry about Alexander, he will be receiving the best medical attention."


	2. Chapter 2

The unmarked Tupolev Tu-194 landed in Incirlik Air Base in Turkey, the flight from Moscow had a full flight crew, two medical personnel and two passengers. Alex had slept under heavy sedatives after initially agreeing with the proposal for the freedom of a life long Russian Agent.

Alex groaned as he emerged from the fog of drug induced sleep. God, he was on the f-ing plane. No chance of making a run for it. He was jaded enough not believe the reassurances that he would be safe. He felt the crippling ache of failure due to his survival. Roman had been blunt that the Americans thought he had been imprisoned for over a year in a Gulag. His accident now painted the perfect picture that their misinformation was correct. The only comfort was that both Grief clones were dead. He had read their autopsy reports, gruesome reading considering both had been beaten to death.

Tim Gillings was sat opposite his fellow passenger and noted the kid, who looked like he had gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson, was awake. "Morning, kid. We've landed. Not long now until you're home with your family."

"I have no family." Alex answered bluntly. All he knew were abusers. He now even thought of Jack as spineless, not standing up to either Ian nor Blunt as they had used, blackmailed and abused him. Every move and every holiday used as training or cover for missions. She must have suspected something before Blunt sank his claws into his teen operative.

"Must have missed home comforts though?" The former prisoner had been treated with grudging respect by the security service and had been protected in semi isolation. Even so it had been eighteen months of bad rations and poor conditions. What had happened to this teenager?

Alex shrugged. He knew he had burned his bridges and there would be no possibility of going home to Chelsea. The Royal and General had wiped his existence from all official records. Ian's estate had been liquidated and dispersed to distant cousins. He had nothing. His only friend now a merciless assassin, who had only recused him as repayment to a debt to his dead trainer, Hunter. He felt hot and sticky, his arm itched under the cast and his arm, head and chest ached. He needed medicating back to numbness, but said nothing to the two nurses were busy chatting with the stewards. Pale, pain pinched and terribly thin; Alex coughed and a thick gob of sputum hit the plane carpet. "Sorry, that was gross."

Tim leaned over bent down and wiped up the mess with a paper napkin left from his drink. Two cold vodkas to celebrate his ignominious return home. His two Russian contacts arrested with him would both likely die in jail. If the kid felt like he did, guilt, regrets and failure, there was no real comfort returning knowing your team was either captured or dead, while you got off relatively scot free. "Yeah, not going back Stateside under the best of circumstances. I expected to be so forgotten. Special Operations means you fuck up, you get betrayed and caught, you are on your own. I wonder who we were traded for?"

"Professor Daniel Konstantin of Georgetown. He ran the recruitment operation for over 30 years. The old man gets to retire to a nice dacha rather than die in federal prison." Alex had been told exactly who he was freeing, not that he expected anything more than house arrest if he was lucky in the States. He prayed it wasn't military school, not again.

The CIA agent was surprised, all he had been told was that he was going home. "Oh, they told you."

Alex nodded. "I have always been honest with them. Did what I was told. They got what they wanted from me. Quid Quo Pro."

"So, why do look like you've been beaten into submission?"

"Oh I was, don't worry. This," Alex gestured with his right hand, "was as result of going over the wire. My luck pretty much ran out last year and accidents happen."

They pair sat in silence as the door opened and they were beckoned to descend the stairs. Alex stood and the tall American offered to help. So it was the pitiful display of a battered sixteen year old being supported by his fellow detainee descending onto the tarmac, where two wheel chairs awaited, as the airbase personnel had been forewarned about the need for medical assidstance. The FSB agent, they were being traded for looked ashen his counterparts. There was a child involved. What had the CIA done and how had the youth been injured?

Alex looked at the man who was trading one imprisonment for another, "Good Luck, Professor." Alex said with a weak smile.

The old man looked closely at the boy. "You too."

…..

In the base hospital, both agents were stripped and assessed. Alex was finally left to his own thoughts after x-rays were taken of his injuries. He tried not to worry that the doctor had listened at length to Alex's chest, he had only coughed up more repellent lumps of mucus twice.

The teenager had expected a debrief first, but being prodded and pocked was almost as bad. Then again his interrogation after Murmansk had been a mixture of doctors and FSB agents. He shuddered thinking about his first stay in the clinic and the mix of concern and badgering over details. Its not like he knew anything about Blunt, Byrne, MI6 or the CIA.

God he had hated Ivan and his over friendly attempts to empathise with him after getting kicked out of Suvorov, while grassing each and every admission and foible to Valentin. It had been claustrophobic over last winter, as the depressed teenager had been watched constantly. Alex smiled thinking about his first escape in April, during the first day above freezing. He had gone hunting by himself as he had been sick of bad army rations.

Now he was thousands of miles from there and he could never apologise properly to Dimitry, never mend their broken friendship. It had all been a controlled illusion anyway as Dima had been the only 'suitable' companion vetted by his bastard father. God, he hated Sarov and he could not escape him as even here they called him by that name; not that he wanted to be called Rider either. Ian had tainted his childhood with his grand plan and now Alex had nothing to look back on without thinking about games within games.

He lay and stared at the ceiling, taking controlled breaths. Getting his mask back in place. Alex was alone and that was fine.

…

"Surgery on Mr. Sarov's arm is scheduled for this evening. At the moment he is on broad spectrum antibiotics for his numerous leech bites and we suspect pneumonia, but that may be masking something else and samples of sputum are being analysed."

"Analysed for what?" Asked General Charles Canterbury.

"Shadows on his lungs and his general poor condition suggest he has tuberculosis. We can confirm Alex has intestinal parasites and is receiving treatment for that."

"Does Mr. Gillings have the same conditions?"

"No. Just run down from poor nutrition and lack of exercise. He has no overall or underlying health concerns." The doctor then brought up his main concern "You do know Alex has numerous scars on his back from being whipped, he also has scars on both wrists from a suicide attempt. He refused to elucidate any details to either when asked. Just that shit happens. God I love teenagers!"

"So we have a suicidal teenager who has been tortured in the past."

"Yes." the doctor confirmed.

"And the cause of his present injuries?"

"Alex stated he slipped and fell into a ditch after going 'over the wire' for a swim in a nearby lake."

"Right, that's a pile of bullshit if ever I heard it. So, he;s on suicide watch?"

"Yes, he refused to talk to the shrink. Said he'd had enough of mind games and clinics."

"Oh shit. we all know how bad that could be."

…

Alex woke from surgery to find himself in isolation. The nurses and doctors all in full gowns and masks and the news he had tuberculosis. "Am I dying?"

"No, its just a long slow road to get well with lots of tablets to begin with for two weeks, then a course of tablets for six months. Do you know where you contracted it?"

"A couple of guards were diagnosed with TB in November, but I barely knew the guys. Only… I played backgammon with Kolya. He got sent home because of TB last month. We all had a medical, but I got cleared as OK."

Alex lay down and now got the reason he'd been queazy and tired. He'd thought he'd been going mad. "Six months in isolation?"

"No, you are infectious for two weeks, so stuck here until you are well enough to travel."

The patent thought sourly 'Great, stuck in isolation on an army base in Turkey, it was no different than his last prison in the forest 700 kilometres north of Yelizovo.'

…..

The debriefing had been intense and Tim was glad it was over as he smoked outside in the midday heat. Only then he thought about his travelling companion and decided to pay a visit to the kid in isolation. Ever the spy, he walked with stealth and stopped to listen in to the nurses as they gossiped. "Poor kid, no family, no visitors and he just lies there never asking for nothing. Never complains, nothing. That bitch Laura forgot about him on the night shift and he wet the freaking bed, because he'd been told no to leave the room. That darling boy was lying in his own filth for hours. He has a rash all the way up his back and the Major went postal when he found out. That and the fact Alex is not eating."

Tim Gillings went back to get several confections from the vending machines because the food was not what he wanted to eat and he wasn't sixteen.

Dressed in scrubs, it took a moment for Alex to recognise the other spy. It looked like Tim had not slept since they landed. "Hi, you look awful. I guess the debrief included full sleep deprivation. No truth serums I hope. That stuff makes me as sick as a dog. RTI never covered that!"

"Usual for a debrief, I think its best to get it over with. You had other things to worry about considering your ribs, arm and infections." Tim then placed a can of coke, jolly ranchers, gum and m&ms on the bedside table. "A few non regulation treats. I haven't been out and about but I can try and rustle up a burger for you."

Alex smiled "Well, a whopper is definitely work giving you a blow job. I have nothing else to trade. Hell, I left my stash of contraband in my room for Valentin to find. You know the usual porn, food, pot and smokes."

The Agent looked at this kid shrewdly, prison was run on trade. "No smoking here. Best use the time here to quit. I will be when I get home."

"Its just nothing much else to do, back there. I'll miss Kolya. We… hung out…. experimented. Almost boyfriends, but you can never be open about anything like that. I never told any of the shrinks nor Alexei or Valentin that I was sexually attracted to the same sex. Big no no. Come to think of it I never told Ian, Jack or Tom in London. Told Dima and he called me a pervert."

There was the crux of the matter, here was a kid exploring his boundaries about puberty in the worst situation possible, while controlled by MI6, the CIA and then the FSB. "Talk to the guys here. Its OK to shock the bastards that they fucked you up, when they fucked up by using you. Dig the knife in and be brutal. I… I was off limits in Camp 352. No contact with the general population. I got packages from home as well. You were on your own weren't you."

"Yeah I was."


	3. Chapter 3

Life was a game with the odds heavily stacked against Alex, always some bastard saying 'Heads I win and tails you lose'. He was dreaming, hyper realism of the submarine base in Murmansk, the smell of the dock, the mix of diesel and rotten seaweed, the cold wind off the Barents Sea and the peculiar ozone smell and a bomb counting down to certain death and destruction. He could see the cold hard face of the General. He was beaten, physically and metaphorically, expecting dearth and pleading for the deranged megalomaniac not to irradiate most of Europe in his insane plan to make Russia great.

A shrill scream of pain followed by pitiful whimpers and pleading in Russian broke the silence in the base hospital at 3:10AM. The kid on isolation was experiencing one hell of a night terror. The teen had fallen out of bed and was making himself as small as possible in the far corner of his room. The nurse suited up as quickly as possible as she could hear hacking coughs interspaced by rasps of Russian.

Lisa did not touch the boy in case of a violent reaction but spoke in soft, reassuring tones, "Wake up Alex, its OK. You're safe. Come on. Sit up, that will help you breath."

Alex shuddered as he listened to the words of the nurse, but he made no attempt to move from his safe spot. He had noting to be comforted by and was petrified of his debrief tomorrow. Was it better to lie and leave them with their misapprehension he'd been in some gulag? There had been no forced labour, true the food had been barely edible, but he had sat down for three meals a day. It had been his choice not to eat. Trading his food, blow jobs and bet winnings for other items, such as cigarettes, opium based painkillers, hashish and really bad hooch. The soldiers thought his foster father overtly strict and the fifteen/sixteen year old only wanted entertainment during exile to the end of nowhere.

He felt the woman try and stroke his back in reassurance, but he flinched hard enough to smash his head into the concrete wall, and he croaked harshly "don't touch me!"

The nurse backed off, hands in view, non threatening posture and busy repeating her soft words to calm her distraught patient.

Alex then made a bold statement of fact "I hate sleeping, I hate my dreams and I hate my supposed father so so much. I dreamt about him beating me, forcing me to be his son, my bargain with the devil to stop him killing my friends, from murdering millions. Yet, you still call me by his name, I hate everything about Alexei Sarov. That man broke me before the FSB interrogators got to me."

There, he had broken his own taboo, truth was out in the open. He had been told to be blunt, now they all knew it had been a horror story from the start. The Russian authorities had used him, to entrap Sarov in his lies, but he had first been trapped by that bastard to play act being an knock off copy off his long dead and very perfect real son.

Four hours later, showered and dressed, the sixteen year old was debriefed, giving full details of the Cuban operation, the dead of the CIA team and his capture, interrogation and 'turning' by the FSB.

…..

In Washington, Byrne read the transcript of all that had befallen Alex. Tortured, manipulated, threatened and then adopted by the man who had visited all that upon him. That bastard Sarov had brainwashed a fourteen year old with the promise of family. It had almost worked, only Alex had been used by the FSB to keep Sarov under control. In his shoes, after a month of intense interrogation; Byrne was sure he would have crumbled and he been intensively trained to withstand such techniques. The kid's position completely untenable as he had no diplomatic or operational backup and Sarov had used the Russian family services system to adopt the orphaned teenager, helped along by the fact MI6 had covered up and denied the boy's forced employment and Blunt's guardianship.

The suicide attempts and self harm were completely understandable. Life for the teenager had been house arrest with his abuser for nearly a year, the Grief clone turning up, Sarov dying and then the fools had assumed that a brainwashed and traumatised child could just slip back into normal school life. Then the kid had suffered another stay in high security psychiatric clinic. Alex had been then 'home schooled' at an army base in the middle of Siberia. Using his body to supplement his drink and drug habit.

The kid was on suicide watch after Alex extremely candid debrief. The sixteen year old admitted to slashing his wrists at boarding school, then drinking, smoking, taking drugs when available and when not, starving himself and self harm, when he could get away with it.

The psychologist has written a note that the teenager needed guardians he could trust and was not to be treated like a child or hidden as a national security problem.

Byrne picked up the file, knowing the man he was going to see had the necessary security clearance and might just be able to help Alex, since the kid had just about given up on everything and expected the worst from everybody.

In the sub-basement of the Pentagon, was the offices of General Canterbury. The General in charge of a logistics budgeting of the US Armed Forces abroad across the globe, from weather stations to fully equipped battalion bases. In truth, he was a glorified accountant. His afternoon of number crunching over a huge spread sheet for the next financial year was broken by his assistant with an unexpected guest. "Sir, sorry to disturb you, but there is Deputy Director Joe Byrne to see you regarding the Grenoble incident."

This was not good, a spook had to use that awful school as code for Alex. Guilt still gripped him for wanting a quick fix for his son's rebelliousness. "Send him in, captain."

The career soldier could see his guest was not wearing his usual game face; in fact he looked beyond tired. "Good afternoon, Director Byrne, I take it you have a proposal concerning MI6's teen spy."

Byre sat and passed over the file. "Read and please tell me how to fix this. I thought I was just getting the kid for two weeks as cover for my agents. He's been nearly two years in exile, under close supervision mostly, but with two stays in psychiatric clinic. The first a cover for intense interrogation and reprogramming. Alex is still in danger, because Blunt wants him back and is offering much to get his own way."

Charlie Canterbury rarely swore, but he exclaimed "That bloody bastard! He tried to swap one of those fucking clones to get back his weapon! Please tell me that Joe's doppelgänger is safely under lock and key."

"Not useable, luckily Joe had a growth spurt and is now 5'11", the Grief's are all short and their anti-psychotic medication means that Joe-Grief is 50lbs overweight." Unlike Joe, Alex was still a petite and alarmingly skinny 5'7. "Is it possible for you to foster him? You and Mimi are the picture perfect married couple, with a foster brother Alex might even relate to and no treat like a fucking prison guard. Joe might even bring that kid I liked so much back from wherever Alex has stashed him."

…..

For the third day in a row, Alex woke with a nightmare, luckily before the nurse on duty had been aware of his distress. He was too hot, the sheets soaking and his gown was stuck to his skin. The teenager was bone tired and his heavy gasps for breath were catching in his throat. His attempts to regulate his breathing caused a coughing fit and before he could get a handful of tissues, he was hacking up lumps if disgusting phlegm into his hand. Everything was reduced to gasps and coughing. When his fit eventually subsided, the nurse was beside the bed and silently helped him clean up.

"I'll wrap your arm up so you can have a shower, then I can change the bedding and get you a clean set of scrubs." It was day seven in isolation and Alex knew the routine. At 10, the base chaplain would drop by and bring magazines and a couple of DVD's. Not that Alex watched any of the stupid kids or teen films. His plan was to ask if he was allowed to write to Valentin, Dimitry and Kolya. Not that he expected any of them to write back, as he had no idea where he was headed after he stopped being a germ factory.

It was 5:30 and Domingo, the day shift nurse would arrive with his bad renditions of Latin Pop songs and steady stream of base gossip. The sixteen year old was sure, the real gossip was him, only he kept his mouth shut about everything since his intense Q&A session with the spooks.

It was difficult to wash, but the hot water itself was amazing. At the Communications Base in Siberia, the water was a lukewarm dribble at best. The banya on base never quite steamy and never truly hot enough to drive away the perpetual winter chill. The only thing he missed were his illicit meetings with Kolya. The wily petty officer in supplies, who was a crafty black marketeer, smuggling in contraband and requisitioning surplus for a steep profit, either as barter or cold hard cash. Alex had been his informer, getting info from Valentin's diary and overheard telephone conversations about noted irregularities, planned inspections and crack downs. It also helped that the 26 year old from Irkutsk was handsome, very blond and bisexual. Alex had called it dating but it was just getting off as his boyfriend was engaged to a nice girl back home. Alex had initially thought his prolonged sick leave had been a euphemism for being arrested. TB meant a medical discharge. Alex had seen a scramble as others try to mimic the Siberian's effortless wheeling and dealing. Three unfortunates had fallen foul of Valentin's inspections as they had treated the Colonel's ward like a leper he was.

Alex listened as Father McGuinness prattled on about organising a picnic and other worthy deeds. As the team of spooks had gone back stateside, the teenager had no idea how or to whom he needed to gain permission from, to write home. Only Russia was not and never had been home. He had called it home during his chats with the base psychiatrist and the bastard had taken detailed notes of his patient's classic Stockholm Syndrome. When in fact, his life was just a series of unfortunate events. Now he was sure he'd be sent back to London and probably then on to some grim bedsit if he was deemed unuseable, borstal if he was viewed as a threat or worst of all, Breacon for retraining if he was placed back on the books. He had to write to Valentin to get his copy of his General School Certificate, which he had passed in February with fairly decent grades. He wanted to finish school, even if he had no wish to actually socialise with other teenagers.

"Is it Ok to write to my former guardian and my friends? I can give you their names and addresses. My former temporary guardian has my school accreditations. No one has told me wether I'm going back to school or being tutored again." Alex smiled showing off the gap left by his missing teeth on his left hand side of his upper jaw.

The priest looked uncomfortable, as the psychiatrist had told him this unfortunate boy had constructed a detailed fantasy to explain his imprisonment in a Siberian Camp as staying with his appointed guardian, being home schooled and spoilt. When he had arrived here grossly underweight, beaten and severely ill. "I'll pass your list into the base commander."


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear Valentin_

 _I hope you and all in deepest darkest Siberia are well._

 _My loss of appetite, peakiness and persistent cough have been diagnosed as Tuberculosis. Doctor Ivan failed to diagnose me last month, but I must have caught it playing backgammon in the mess. Apart from that, my arm is mending well. My bones fixed with metal plates. I've been on strict bed rest, but the hospital here is nice. Food is passable, mostly. Although these Americans are obsessed with Jello._

 _I have written to Dimitry again, but he probably has chucked the letter out unread. I can tell you that we fell out because I told him I was gay as in homosexual as in a disgusting pervert, his words. That's why I tried to kill myself at school._

 _So, thanks for trying to set me straight, and goodbye._

 _Please send me my general school certificate via the Langley or the US Embassy. I hope to be able to finish higher schooling, but I have the feeling I'm going to be traded back to Blunt and that will not end well._

 _Your disobedient former ward, Alex._

His letter to Dimitry had merely said, ' _Your godfather is all yours as I've moved West again, Alex_ '.

He paused wondering what to write to Kolya and decided not to bother the man. For all the time they spent together, Alex was sure he had just been a nice warm, wet mouth for the man to stick his dick. It had been a diversion in the bleak, cold and dark winter months, as the petty officer had been one of the few to actually talk to the Colonel's weird and disturbed ward. Alex looked at the scars on his inner arm, small indentations from self inflicted bites. He smiled as he clearly remembered the sensation of biting down hard, pain blooming into agony and he could almost taste the sourness of blood on his tongue. He looked out at the blue skies and the signs of heat haze in the restricted view he had of the base compound. The room was slightly too cool from the air conditioning and he instinctively snuggled down back under his bedding. He had schooled his desires to self inflict pain. However, he wanted to smoke so badly. He wondered what American cigarettes were like, nothing like the Russian tobacco he was used to. No, homemade vodka here either. It was a wonder he had not gone blind from drinking that moonshine. The doctor came in and commented "You look a bit better today. Need anything from the vending machines?"

"What I want I'm sure you won't allow me considering my age and the fact I'm in hospital." Alex smiled ruefully at his own bad habits.

"Try me." The doctor asked as he looked at the teenager with the wary eyes of someone who had seen too much.

"Cigarettes? Vodka? I'll blow you as I've got nothing else to trade. I'm quite good, got a lot of practice in Russia. I get that you will refuse because of your wedding ring on your finger, medical ethics and the bullshit of Don't Ask Don't Tell."

The doctor had served in Africa, Iraq and Central America and had seen what children had been reduced to in order to survive. "Medically, its a no to all three requests. As a father myself, you are too young for that sort of thing and considering the high incidence of HIV in Russia, extremely lucky not to have any STDs from being sexually active or from casual drug use. Did you have multiple partners?"

"No, just Kolya. He preferred to fuck a fifteen year old virgin than high risk of getting the clap at the local brothel." Alex had often wondered how many green recruits had shared that man's bed as they lost their virginity. He had always refused to go all the way, through self preservation, not any ideals or modesty. One thing held in reserve to trade if things got even more dire. "I'm sorry but it would need to be one hell of a trade if you want my virgin ass."

"Saving yourself for love?"

"No, love is not on the cards. I'm too much of a loner, don't trust easily and I'm shit at making friends." Very good at losing then, was the truth Alex did not vocalise. "Kolya was a bastard and a player, we traded nothing more. Those are the type of people I get. Quid Quo Pro, no false promises, nothing to lose or die for. Heroics and trying to do the decent thing got me up shit creek without a paddle. I look at my scars and remind myself of that every day." Alex frowned as his considered his return to operations. "I was told to be upfront and honest about everything. I'm fucking terrified that I'm about to set shafted again. I was pretty much blackmailed and threatened into all this and I actually prefer the reality of whoring myself to the alternative of being MI6's bitch. I go back to London and those cunts will own me for now and evermore. The only escape is in a box. My parents and uncle all died before they reached 40. I started young, so I might make it to 25."

The doctor sighed, knowing the spooks had made sure all the staff here were tied into National Security protocols, but he for one would make his opinion known as this kid's clinician. "You are medically unfit, physiologically and psychologically for any operations or future military service. TB lesions on your lungs are permanent. It'll be 12 months of decent food, rest and recuperation for you young man just to get fit and well and that is part of your medical notes for all to see. No school until September as well. Might as well give your arm enough time to heal fully. Most importantly you need to understand that you have survived a series of high stress situations and need to reacclimatise to normal life and getting you a family and back interacting with teenagers is important. So, seeing a psychologist is also highly recommended. Group therapy will prove to you that you are not alone. My advice is to keep doing what your doing, talk and let everyone be fully aware that you are not A-OK and definitely a long way from well. Luckily being highly infectious with a life threatening condition tends to help your cause." The doctor then handed over his mobile phone to the patient. "So, I think I need to go get us both cokes. I'll be back in 10 minutes or so."

As the doctor left the phone rang. Alex answered with a very unsure "Hello?"

"Hi, Alex, its Joe Canterbury from Psycho Clone Academy. I hear Ivanov's been a complete loser. How do you fancy living in DC with my completely disfunctional family rather than return to spying?"

…..

Mimi Canterbury sat with her husband with their lawyer in the offices of the Army Fostering and Adoption Service. Three days ago, her husband had come to her suggesting they adopt the boy MI6 agent who had freed their son two years previously. The career politician had read the CIA file and had agreed on the spot to help the orphan and to out manoeuvre those who would continue to use this child. In the lawyer's briefcase were two files, both carefully put together by the FSB and the CIA. Chuck Canterbury had spoken to Alexandrov about shafting Blunt's attempt to regain control of his teen spy. The translated copy of Alexei Sarov's will now stated the Canterbury's, old friends of Alex, were the late General's preferred placement for his adopted son. The other file contained Russian adoption papers filed two days ago in Vladivostok, giving the couple full parental rights to the orphaned son of the Russian general. The American had been given his details by Byrne and used his son's connection to Alex and Dimitry Ivanov. He and his wife's marriage was stronger and they had mended their relationship with their own son with over a years hard work. Alex now needed family and help to rest and just be a teenager.

"Hi, Laura." Mimi smiled at Adoption Specialist and gripped her husband's hand tightly at this slight of hand. "So, here are copies of the paperwork filed last year with the Russian Authorities. It has taken 10 months for this to clear their system. I hope we can collect Alex from hospital ASAP, as the State department has already cleared his visa." The Senator had made a phone call to the first lady to clear that obstacle. She was a Washington professional and could wheel and deal with the wiliest of liars and double dealers. Joe had spoken to Alex yesterday and got a green light with a little persuasion.

…

Alex dressed in what were Joe's castoffs. The worn jeans, t-shirt and hoody were matched with new boxers, socks and Converse All Stars. He looked like a real teenager for the first time in two years. Joe Canterbury's dad was here in full uniform, looking impressive and they were flying to Germany, then on to America. It was the promise of home, even if Joe stated his mom was a machiavellian control freak and his dad a dictator. Chuck had introduced himself last night and thanked Alex profusely for saving Joe's life. "We owe you, kid. You'll soon find out no one picks a fight with Mimi and gets off unscathed. She is tenacious and nothing is beyond her. That fella Blunt is in for a surprise, because no shit sticks to Ms. Miriam Graylow. I fell in love with her in High School, she was class president and worked her way through college, then Harvard Law School. Joe takes after her in so many ways. Its not easy living with them, but we are 110% behind supporting you while you recover and decide what to do. No expectations from us, just that you are whole and happy. Mimi can't wait to take you back to Harrisburg and to met her strange and large bohemian family. Summer on her family farm will see you spoiled and eat wholesome home grown food. Her mom's peach pie is the best. They even make their own ice cream."

The American looked at this pale, skinny kid who looked every inch the poor, ill orphan he was. Strangely tongue tied and had had spoken more on the phone yesterday. "Your room will be sorted by the time we get home. You have the whole summer to decide on home school or High School. No military school I promise. We threaten Joe, but its an empty threat. So, Alex, you are part of the Graylow-Canterbury family now, God help you. We can talk more during our flight. I have photos and I'll give you the lowdown of all things Joe since he came home from France. The doc has given me a full briefing, so no 'I'm fine' but I assume you'll just grunt at me like Joe does. My mom was a nurse and she'll give me pointers about everything. So, lets get going. This time tomorrow we'll be landing stateside and our gamble to outsmart those limey spooks will have worked."


	5. Chapter 5

It was late, they were late. Joe Canterbury was watching the seconds tick by on his menubar rather than write code or email his short list of friends. Tonight's correspondence had been fifteen messages from Paul Roscoe asking 'is spy boy there yet?' and Cass being a supercool Californian, who had only messaged once about how boring his science project was not mentioning the former Mr. Friend at all. His two BFF's were both long distance friends. Another escapee from Point Blanc had emailed yesterday, James Sprintz sending his missive from his boarding school in Switzerland. The German troublemaker was playing nice in the hope his father would let him travel stateside when his term ended. Both teenagers complained of the seven long boring weeks until school was out.

A car pulled up and through the open window Joe could hear his dad thank his driver.

In the light, bright hall of the Georgetown home of Senator and General Canterbury, a slim and petite sixteen year old stopped in his tracks and looked at the mix of art and photographs on the pale walls, which screamed wealth and taste.

The tall American dropped his bags and felt the jarring combination of bone tired and hungry. The kid would be the same, but he had not complained nor asked for anything. "Come on into the kitchen, you need a drink and snack with your meds. We'll slowly move the timing to US time, unless you're a night owl like Joe."

At that there was a tall, slim young man bounding down the stairs, missing the last five steps in an easy leap he mock whispers "Dad! Alex! You guys are so late! Best be quiet, mom has an early meeting tomorrow. She texted you. Loser in the Transport department would not rearrange for her family emergency."

From the huge refrigerator, Charlie Canterbury pulled out two platters of sandwiches, each decorated with luminous post-its stating MEAT and VEGGIE. At the breakfast bar, Alex drank a large glass of ice cold milk, which was the best tasting drink he had had in months. He ate two tuna sandwiches and could not decide if the soya veggie slices were evil or not. He'd prefer straight cheese to the strange faux slices. A colourful array of tablets were then downed.

Dad then ordered "So get to bed, guys. Joe will show you to your room, Alex. Its down the hall from mine and Mimi's room and Joe's is upstairs again. If you are up early you'll meet the beautiful Mrs. Canterbury, otherwise I'm home until Tuesday. Hopefully, I'll sleep, but jet lag normally gives me insomnia so I might be in my office in the basement."

Joe stopped by the guest room reassigned as his new brothers personal space. The room was painted aegean blue, two football posters were on the wall. Alex frowned at the new Chelsea strip depicted on the unfamiliar players. "Get some sleep, bro. See you about lunchtime or so." joe said with a yawn. The orphan carefully checked out this space. The closet had a few generic clothes. The bed was standard with plain dark blue bedding. There were several books, all previously read, obviously passed on by Joe with a stack of computing and gaming magazines. He considered changing into the sleep pants, but he pulled off his clothes to sleep in the nude.

…

It was 4:50 and Mimi sat bolt upright at the sound of crying. She knew Charlie was sleeping in his office not to disturb her. She pulled on her robe and followed the sound to Alex's bedroom. Her basic grasp of Russian she could make out heart breaking pleading of 'No!', 'Please Don't!' and 'father!'.

She knocked on the door and entered, putting on the lights at a low setting and alerting her new son to her presence with "Alex darling, you're having a nightmare. You're safe in Washington, in your new home. Wake up Alex, its OK."

With a gasp, the teen flung himself out of the bed and pushed himself across the floor the corner and questioned "Jack?"

"No, its Mimi, Joe's mom, your new mom. This is your room in your new home. Or as Joe calls it, a place only slightly better than the school from Hell. His favourite pastime is making us pay for our mistake of sending him there. The one good thing was that we all realised what we almost lost."

The boy blinked several times and then was awake enough to register there was no threat nor a spot inspection. He smiled sheepishly and then could not help but cough. He had a handful of phlegm after his second cough. "I just need to wash up. I'll be back in a mo.". As he washed his hands Alex realised he'd just flashed Joe's mom. Rubbing his hand over his face, he could either react like it was a big deal, only it really wasn't. He strode back into the bedroom to the closet and pulled on a t-shirt and sweatpants. His new mother was sat patiently on his bed with her back to the door.

The fifty-four year old veteran senator's eyes had been drawn to the lines of scars on this boy's back, from his thighs to shoulders; proof Alexei Sarov had whipped his son into submission. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, Sorry for waking you. It's strange that people notice my nightmares here. Valentin and Dimitry just slept through them." The bad dreams had been an occasional occurrence, with his change in circumstances, they had been regular over the past three weeks. "It's just change has affected me. I was not happy by a long way in Siberia. I need to find my feet, to trust you and hope this works out; as the last two years have shown me hope and trust are two things I cannot afford."

The radio alarm on Mimi's bedroom started blaring out the local news. "I have a full diary this morning. Will you be able to go back to sleep?"

The teenager shrugged and then was truthful "Not a chance."

Understanding her own inability to sleep in once awake, she proposed "Rather than wait hours for Joe to get up or Charlie to get over his jetlag, you could join me for a breakfast on the go and see just how tedious the majority of public service really is. The only good thing is we should be home for lunch and Connie has promised her chilli bean soup and toasted cheese quesadillas."

Knowing Joe was vegetarian, Alex wondered if most food catered for their fussy son. "Sure, we should get to know each other." The general had talked a lot about his wife and son, giving their new family member the low down of how things worked in the Canterbury household. Joe's mom was a bundle of energy about work, home, her husband and son. Joe, their only child, had come as a surprise after fifteen years of marriage. Two years ago, the pair had separated, leading to Joe's bad behaviour and the decision to send him to boarding school. The career driven pair had learned a hard lesson and family was the most important thing in both their life, as the politician. When Joe had returned hime both had asked Joe if he wanted them to resign their responsibilities. Joe's distant indignation crumbled as he realised the Point Blanc business had hurt his parents as much as himself. Not a fairy tale ending as all had to work hard, talk things through and each understand the dynamic. Now, he was part of this family and he was going to have to try hard to integrate and thrive here. He could not coast, drift along or despair.

The small independent coffee shop offered a wide selection of drinks, pastries and breakfast options. Alex looked at the selection and picked hot chocolate and a granola yogurt pot mix. As the strangers who were now mother and son sat back in the car, Alex knew he had to make this work, these people were offering him the real deal, not the mountain of lies and deceptions of Sarov and his uncle. "Charlie talked a lot on the flight over. I know his reasons for inviting me here. I have to ask, because this isn't an easy task as I'm not OK, physically nor mentally. Why did you choose to invite a stranger, a dangerous stranger, into your family?"

Rather than start the car, Mimi smiled and looked at this frail young man, one used to orders, hard choices and no affection. "It was an easy choice, on my part. You needed a lifeline, a choice of a normal-ish life. Joe came back from France telling us of the brave, selfless actions of a British kid working for their government after a tip off from Michael Roscoe. We owe you so much. That whole situation at Point Blanc sucked, but what your government did to you was unconscionable. Then the CIA dropped the ball and don't get me started with that bastard Sarov. As a minimum, I hope you can accept room, board, a chance to finish your education and firstly and most importantly enough care to get well. This is with no expectations from us. We are offering you family, which means we will give you space to find your own path. Families are not about perfection, fitting a mould or an easy ride. At least this one isn't."

Alex knew he had to play his part, try and open up and break down his walls. He was too used to hiding everything. "I warn you, I'm trouble."

"So am I. Watch and learn this morning." Mimi was a political animal and a mother bear with a new child to protect. She was going to cut no slack to this lobbyist who would not rearrange due to her family emergency. Her choice to invite Alex along was the right one. Hopefully, they would not hurt this guarded and paranoid ex-spy and get him to realise he could relax and live.

…

It was after 3 before Joe ventured out of his room. The kitchen was empty, but their were voices from the basement. The lanky teen went down to his parent's offices, to see his mom and Alex sat looking through their calendars.

Mimi smiled at the vision of her night owl son. "Hi, Joe. We're just going over plans and pressing appointments. Alex has a full day with the hospital and dentist on Monday. Are you coming with us?"

"Sure, sounds fun. The dentist, my favourite." He said sarcastically.

Alex grimly knew that it would be months of doctors, dentists and shrinks.


	6. Chapter 6

In a whirlwind of five days in America, Alex had visited the family home in York County, Pennsylvania to met and greet his new immediate family including the scary, forthright and stern Grandma Canterbury and the warm and welcoming Fran and Bill Graylow. The worst bit of the weekend had been compulsory Church, when the Pastor had politely quizzed the new member of his congregation on his religion, assuming he'd been brought up Russian Orthodox, and been quite put out when Alex explained he was an atheist and that his late father had been a committed Marxist of the Stalinist variety. Church was one thing he'd have to endure as he had no illusions to faith or an afterlife. An hour or so of boredom a week was not so bad. Overall, the reality of his new American family had been OK, Alex was surprised by the beginnings of trust. Small steps towards a better life. His new mother had inner steel and relished a good fight considering she was a Democrat elected and re-elected in a formerly Republican stronghold.

The strangest bit of the weekend away had been sharing a room with Joe at the Graylow Farm. He was the first to admit he was the complete opposite of the Canterbury's real son. Joe spent most of the night catnapping between checking his phone, as there was no internet there. Alex was used to strict curfews, work regimes and getting up at dawn for rigorous PT.

After days of smiling and being polite, the teenager was glad to be back in Georgetown in his own room. He lay in bed and pondered his temporary cosmetic plate, crafted to mask his two missing teeth, on the bedside table. In two weeks he'd be in for the real torture of getting two ceramic and metal permanent replacements screwed into his jaw. He hated the thought of that as check-ups were bad enough. Tomorrow life was returning to normal, well normal for the Canterbury's, with full time working mom and dad and Joe going back to school. Alex would be at home with Connie the sarcastic and world weary Cuban born housekeeper. The old crone was a character who smoked on the back step, swore in Spanish under her breath and had practically ordered Alex to do as he was told, to eat his meals and to rest properly. The woman had detailed instructions including a timetable of medication, lists from the nutritionist to follow and the demeanour of a nanny trained by the SAS and used to dealing with naughty boys who did not take their medicine nor eat their greens. Joe had an uneasy truce with the hired help as she always assumed he was up to something. Alex had the feeling both his new mom and dad and Ms. Valdez expected him to abscond or get into trouble. Did they not get that he had nowhere left to go and this was better than any alternative. Here he was safe from Blunt and Byrne. With that not so reassuring thought, the young man turned to face the wall and try to will himself to sleep.

Alex woke to the sounds of his family getting ready for their first normal day back at school and work, but he stayed in bed until all had left; pretending to still be asleep. At 8:30 Connie knocked on his door and ordered him to get his butt downstairs for his breakfast as she needed to go grocery shopping.

The woman already had her coat on and ordered "Eat your oatmeal and fruit, drink your milk and take your meds. I'll be back around 11:30."

"Yes ma'am." Alex stood to attention, snapping his heels and giving a perfect salute as taught in Russia.

His actions caused the woman to chuckle as she left.

He ate leisurely and then cleared up. He then went back to his room to work on his real life action plan. How to make the FSB, the CIA and MI6 not just keep their distance but bin any intention for future employment? Number One was he wanted to get fit and well. He was well aware he needed his head shrinking after getting blackmailed and threatened by every adult who crossed his path for two years. He wanted to enact Yassen's game plan, to get out of the shadows and not be a fucked-up spook now or ever. What did agencies hate? Outright treason was out and going freelance was also a no no. In today's climate of zero tolerance on terrorists, Alex would get a one way trip to Guantanamo if he tried to play the game not on their terms. So, he had to be subtle. Ian had taught him to be adaptable, now he had to adapt to be unemployable by the security services. Having TB meant he was a medical fail for the armed services, which was a start. One thing, he did not want to be classed as insane or mentally unstable. He had had enough of psychiatric clinics to last a lifetime. What qualities meant you were suspect but not an outright threat. Being openly out and proud was a no-no, he had fluid sexuality, though girls were a complete unknown really as he hadn't been interested at Brookland and he had had no opportunity in Russia to date. Being homosexual was not enough, when western society was moving toward acceptance. He would also need to be a political or social activist. Follow in Joe's footsteps, though Greenpeace was not his thing. Civil rights was though. He would read up on Amnesty International. He had the credentials for that change of direction. Alex grinned to himself as he fleshed out his game plan for his future.

…

At 3, Joe arrived home with two friends. The group raided the fridge for milk and demolished a pack of cookies when Frances enquired "Do we get to meet your sick new brother then?"

"Sure, lets go wake him up. Lucky bastard has been in bed all day."

Alex had not been asleep, but he was reading a book on American history by the window. People watching was more interesting than the names and dates. He had noted his neighbours schedules and idiosyncrasies. Joe knocked and entered. "Cool, you're awake. Meet Frances and Hayley. Ladies, this is Sasha." Joe keeping with the legend of his new brother as the General Sarov's son, not Alex Rider nor Alex Friend.

…..

That night, after the olds were in bed, Alex snuck upstairs to share his life plan with Joe. With the softest of knocks, his brother opened his door with a grin. "Welcome to the real world, spy boy."

As the pair sat and pondered their new dynamic, Joe was 110% behind a future devoid of spy agencies and their manipulations. "My life plan is to expose the lies, to ensure transparency and justice. We know the truth that the privileged few and the governments have stacked the deck in their favour. I agree, you can't be overt in your disaffection. No one would blame you for becoming a champion for children rights and the rights of political prisoners, considering." The teenager took a long drink from his bottle of water. "Completely agree with the no drugs, drinking only in acceptable social situations, no outright felonies and misdemeanours. God, we are going to be a pair of little angels." Joe moved to hug Alex, "One bit of advice, hold off on outing yourself, as you are in counselling for sexual abuse. Take evaluation of your sexuality slow, because if some fab girl crosses your path, well don't deny yourself love and affection. I'm not being a downer or a hater, cause if a great guy catches your eye, go for it. Just no mafia or creepy assassin types, OK."

…

Alex flexed his fingers in an attempt to relieve the itching beneath his cast, as he woke from his slumber. He was still tired, even after sleeping for most of the two hour drive to Fort Lee. The outsider opened his eyes and observed Joe was reading his new issue of MacTech. He then asked "Are we there yet?"

Charles Canterbury had been answering the same question from Joe every ten minutes since they had left at 10, "Five minutes until the checkpoint, so you'll both be fed and watered soon. Have a good sleep, Sasha?"

Alex grinned thinking of demolishing his share the picnic as he was ravenous, "Good, I think. Was a talking Russian in my sleep again?"

Joe put down his magazine and answered "No, Spanish with an excellent Cuban accent. Something about Diving. Too technical for me. Depth and gas ratios. I can just about manage a snorkel."

Alex sighed, "Snorkeling's good in Cuba. Apart from the sharks, I have a thing about sharks now, so forget diving. Scared the bejeezus out of me."

"Right, Jaws is off the family viewing list then."

"Be serious, J, that shark was obviously plastic and so fake. Music was the best thing about that film and the focus pulling. Give me a zombie film any day."

"Jesus, you need educating! Zombie films are shit!" Joe exclaimed and then cringed as Mimi looked back annoyed at the swearing and the certainty of the loss of another dollar to the cussing jar.

The group picnic was an old tradition for army families, with a group from the Pentagon visiting as well for the home vs. visitors ball family game. Chuck knew Joe would not play, but then he asked Alex, sure his injury would count against getting picked to join in. "Wanna have a try at America's national sport?"

The rules were a mystery to Alex, but he could see it meant a lot to his new father, so he agreed to a hesitant nod, "I can probably have a go, might be a bit useless at catching anything."

"We can but try." The soldier happy to be taking part in the parent/child game.

Alex overheard the heated discussion between Charles and the team coach, "Thanks Chuck, with the Wilson's and the Hunter's not attending we can barely scrape a team together. Even so, your Russian boy has a broken arm and has never played baseball. We are so going to loose."

"He's ambidextrous and very sporty. He'll pick it up. Likes hunting and was rumoured to be at state championship level in biathlon. Keep him as reserve as he tires easily." Chuck smiled at Alex, who had eaten almost as much as Joe at lunch. Both of them loved Mimi's strawberry and rhubarb pie.

It was a close game in the end. All going to plan with Alex catching the ball twice and passing it with accuracy, stopping the home team from thinking he was a useless patsy. He had been a passable player at rounders back at Brookland Comprehensive, the closest English alternative to this much more complicated game. Here he faced a decent opponent and grimaced as he did not feel like running, sliding or ducking out of the way of a fast moving object aimed straight for his head.

The guy was grinning as Alex hit the dirt for the first attempt. He landed on the bat and grunted. Picking himself off he was aware of the hand signal having watched the previous two guys on the home plate. He did not concentrated on the pitcher, but he made a calculated guess on his next pitch. The bat and ball connected as the ball spun off high to the left, as he had swapped his grip. He started to walk not caring if he got caught out, the two other guys were running for all they were worth.

Alex strolled round the diamond and then handed over his helmet to Charles with a sigh "Too tired for anymore, sorry Dad."

The general put his hand on his newly adopted son's shoulder and beamed, "You played life you were born and bred here." Alex then smiled and then remembered that baseball was the national game in Cuba. He had seen kids playing it in Santiago two years ago, when his fake parents had been called Gardiner. Alex knew it was well known that his late father had been an exile in Cuba. They would now assume his son had grown up there, further distancing him from everything Rider. Alex Rider did not officially exist after getting burned by MI6. Here he was stuck pretending to be that bastard's son. The Canterbury's were not playing games, they had no agendas, he hopefully had a future here as their other official son. The sad fact Alex knew it could all go south tomorrow. He had to be zen and he had to make contingency plans. He also knew revenge was a dish best served cold. He had Blunt and Jones in his sights.


	7. Chapter 7

Dimitry Ivanov had received fifteen derogatory emails from Joe Canterbury and four sarcastic ones from Paul Roscoe to temper the short goodbye written by Alex himself. Joe had included details of Alex's psych sessions. Had he misjudged Alex? Had his former friend's confession about perversion actually been a call for help as he was being abused? Joe stated Alex was sensibly not blinkered by gender, just trapped in a mindset as he had no access to girls. It wasn't like Dima had dated lots of girls, in fact he'd been on two dates. A pretty miserable total for a guy nearer to seventeen than sixteen. The Russian teenager did not want to ask his godfather for advice, so he emailed his former cellmates from Point Blanc. He was uptight and homophobic, because that was accepted and acceptable in Russia, and out and proud wasn't. Alex was as brave about his own sexuality as he had been fighting for their freedom and facing off against killers. He had driven his former hero to try to kill himself at school because of Dima's jealousy and his isolation caused the lie of being the dutiful son of Alexei Sarov. His stupid behaviour had driven Alex from Russia after he had ceased all interaction. Valentin had been quite firm that Alex deserved happiness, doubly so since he had left so Valentin could repair the strained relationship with his godson. The Canterbury's were fully accepting and well connected enough to keep the CIA and MI6 at bay. It was an all-round better situation for the former spy. Only Dimitry knew he was unlikely to rekindle the friendship with Alex. He had broken his trust and abandoned him at his lowest point.

He slowly wrote a round robin email to all the fellow losers from Point Blanc, apologising for being a jerk to Alex and saying he was just a juvenile delinquent driven by envy and jealousy. The truth was he had been blind to the fact Alex had been lost and miserable at school and had again failed to connect the clues when Alex had fallen under the influence and been groomed by a sexual predator in Siberia. A fact even his godfather had missed that. Guilt was an emotion Dimitry was well acquainted with after his father's murder. Now he had the sneaky suspicion the abuse had happened only because the teenager in exile had been completely alone.

He was almost finished grovelling when an email from Joe arrived with the subject 'HELP!?'. The Russian boy read it straight away and felt sick with worry. Joe's housekeeper had been brutally attacked and Alex was missing.

…..

It had rained. There were puddles on the sidewalk. The streetlights were reflected in the water, which distorted into patterns as he ran and glanced behind, making sure he wasn't being followed. Had it been one, two or three days? Alex was confused, after being kept in a windowless warehouse with no food nor sleep had left him completely confused. He was wet through, dressed in his jeans and thin t-shirt. No hoodie, no socks and no shoes. The bastards had ripped off his cast to put on some handcuffs and he now had shooting pains radiating from the break area. He ran and did not stop, wheezing alarmingly. Nothing looked familiar, as he ran towards the sound of traffic and hopefully street signs with information. It was America, possibly Washington DC, but nothing had been familiar so far. There was an intersection ahead and houses.

He stopped and could see a car park and a bar or was it a diner? They would have a phone. He could call home. Go home, to bed and to sleep. No eat and sleep. Sandwiches, tuna sandwiches and a glass of milk. Nice creamy and cold American milk. He stumbled by the door, exhausted. Shaking from the exertion. He felt like he had run a marathon but it had only been four blocks and over a railway line. He walked in a waitress was clearing tables and there were two old guys by the counter.

"Please, I need to phone home…." Alex started coughing uncontrollably, unable to get air. Overwhelmed he fainted.

….

There were FBI, cops and an ambulance in attendance. Bob McCarthy the cook had called it in. A kid in handcuffs had collapsed in T & D's Diner. The paramedic was assessing injuries for a primary survey. Difficulty breathing, defensive wounds to the hands and lower arms, wrist worn bloody from the cuffs, heavily bruised face and abdomen, possible internal injuries. The kid had bloody feet, wherever he had been, he had run from there in sheer terror. The FBI Agent came over to the attending medics, "His name is Alexander Canterbury. He was snatched on Tuesday. Bastards put the 62 year old housekeeper looking after him in the hospital after they ran over her. 16 years old, recent broken lower arm, had surgery four weeks ago. Of more concern, he has TB and has not had his meds for three days."

…

The scene in the home of Mimi and Charles Canterbury was organised chaos. The ground floor had been commandeered by the FBI and Agents from the United States Army Criminal Investigation Command. The adopted son of a General had been abducted. After three days, no ransom demands had been received and there had been no sightings nor any clues except the description from the housekeeper, of two caucasian males, medium height and build wearing blue boiler suits and blue baseball caps, driving away in a grey van. The number plate had been a stolen last week from van parked in Baltimore. There had been two CIA officers asking questions and giving a briefing to the team about the child with powerful enemies. A bouquet of flowers had been delivered from the Russian Embassy with an offer of full cooperation from all personnel and their prayers for Alexander and his family.

Mimi was making coffee in the kitchen. Joe was at his grandparents, safe from the unknown threat. Charles listening to all news reports and reading up on kidnapping and abduction cases in his office in the basement. After the 48 hour mark had passed, there was little chance Alex would be found alive. Was it someone from his past? The CIA had discounted the involvement of Yassen Gregorovich as he was last active in Korea last week. There intel suggested he was affiliated with Dr. Three at the present time. Alex had been targeted by the triads in England in 2001. There was the possibility this was a contract killing. Their son, adopted only four weeks ago, was gone. The career soldier wanted to wail and scream, but Mimi had hope. She was waiting for Alex to come home. She had always been so strong. Charles hoped he was a pessimistic fool and his wife was right.

…

Connie had described the abduction to the federal agents over a dozen times. She had gone over every detail herself, trying not to feel she failed that poor boy, just when he had finally settled into home and began to trust.

For the past two weeks, Sasha had been discussing his life in exile with a priest at Russian Orthodox Church, whom he had befriended. Three days ago, Sasha had taken her to meet Father Simeon Orlov. A man in his late twenties, born and brought up in Georgetown, but used to tales of brutal repression from exiles. He was happy to mentor Sasha, telling him of local groups and activities including the LGBT outreach at the local community centre. The young priest had charmed Connie over glasses of hot sweet tea and small almond cookies.

They left the church and she had approved over the changes in this troubled teen. Sasha had relaxed, happier now he was making his own friends not living in the shadows. His overall health was picking up too. As they exited the Church of the Holy Saviour, they paused on the sidewalk, as Alex pondered that life here truly encompassed the freedom to choose. He smiled and asked Connie's advice. "So, I think going to some groups is a good idea. I can't crowd Joe out. Plus I want to explore the fact I'm not straight."

"Making your own friends will help you settle in. You have had a couple of hard years. Now, you have family and need to find your niche here. Whatever makes you happy and safe. No more falling in ditches, you have enough trips to hospital already."

As he turned to walk to the parked car, Alex noted two guys in boiler suits by a van holding a street map. The nearest guy approached them to ask directions. Only then, did the hairs on the ex-spy's neck raise up and he saw the side of the van open. It was a classic snatch and grab scenario.

In Spanish Alex tried to steer the housekeeper out of harms way "Connie, get to the car as quick as you can. I'm going to run." Alex then pushed the guy out of the way only to be faced with a gun pointed not at him, but Connie.

"Be a good boy and get in the van and we won't shoot your minder." The guy stated.

Alex let himself be pushed into the van.

The housekeeper watched as the two climbed in, gun pointed at her and closed the door. Without thinking she stepped forward fast to stand in front of the van only to get knocked over. She had hit the sidewalk hard. Alex was gone with the squeal of wheels. Making a note of the numberplate had been worthless. The feds and the cops had no idea who had taken the sixteen year old.

…..

Alex woke taking a huge gasp of air, sitting straight up and ready to run. Someone was calmly telling him he was safe at The University of Maryland Trauma Centre. He saw all the medical personnel take a step back, their priority to calm their patient. It was bright but the light did not hurt. The teenager started to cough. Then he rationalised that he was safe, he had escaped. Lessons learned from Yassen in Moscow had helped him remain calm and grasp his chance, when he had been left alone with one guard. His train of thought was drawn back into the horror, shaking and he closed his eyes remembering the pain, the questions, the insinuations. The doctor must have drugged him as he relaxed and the pain relented. He lay back down and was no longer frightened of the past nor his uncertain future. He was still awake and comfortably numb as they assessed him, took x-rays, a CT scan, put a new cast on his arms and dressed his wounds.

As his poor abused feet were swathed in soft cotton, Mimi and Charles Canterbury arrived to see their son. They had already been made aware that Alex had been tortured. Grimly the Colonel in charge of the investigation told them the sixteen year old had been deprived of sleep, food and water, waterboarded, beaten, was missing several toenails and had broken fingers. The fact was it had been a professional interrogation.

The doctor smiled wanly as he brought Alexander's parents up to speed, "Senator, General, just to make you aware Alexander has been sedated. He was very distressed when he regained consciousness during his initial assessment." All the injuries and treatment was discussed in detail and they fact Alex was again asleep. "He has been put on intravenous fluids and antibiotics. There is fluids on his lungs and a high danger of developing pneumonia. He will be here for several days. After such a traumatic experience, I would strongly recommend he sees a specialist therapist."

Mimi knew that all the progress they had made was likely to have been undone. The teenager would be guarded, emotionless and distant; seeing all as a threat. "Alex is already a patient of Luke Majors. He… he's no stranger to traumatic situations."


	8. Chapter 8

Fran Graylow was on the porch in the cold grey dawn, listening as her daughter gave her the good news that Alexander was safe. The quiet, polite boy had escaped his captors, but had been ruthlessly tortured. A family meeting was being called. She then phoned her neighbour Sandy McLeod, who would tend their herd today. The retired couple had rented most of their land to him and he was aware of their family emergency. Before returning into the house, she closed her eyes and murmered a prayer of thanks and asked for strength and fortitude; as their new grandson would need all of them close, a strong family unit behind him on his road to recovery. She believed in God's guiding hand, their path to guide Alex. She also believed in a God of Vengeance. Sure that eternal damnation and divine justice awaited those that had hurt that child, even if they escaped the authorities.

In the kitchen, she busied herself fixing sandwiches for breakfast on the go, packed homemade strawberry and rhubarb pie, triple chocolate brownies and walnut cookies for treats. All Joe's favourites as Alex had been tight lipped over his personal choices during his brief stay. Politely eating everything and saying it was wonderful. She filled two flasks with freshly brewed coffee and went to wake her husband and Joe. They would be at the hospital for breakfast, even with the chore of picking up the starchy widow Mrs. Canterbury. She had never warmed to Charlie's strict and cold mother. Even after over thirty years as in-laws they still were formal with each other.

The down to earth daughter of immigrants thought if this hurdle did not break the ice, nothing would.

….

Charlie was fast asleep in the visitor's lounge, crashing after the stress of the last 72 hours. Mimi was watching Alex doze after his last check-up at 6. His pale face distorted by swelling and bruises. His little and ring fingers on both hands splinted. Most alarming was the fact his breathing was laboured and he was on oxygen. Her son had warned her to expect trouble, but not like this. Who the hell tortured a sixteen year old like this and for what? Alex had not been party to any secrets for two years. He was not a threat to either American or Russian national security. If they had not been after information, what had they wanted? To force him back into spying? All the clues pointed to MI6 trying to get back control of their wunderkind and using any means possible to persuade their former asset back into the fold. It all linked into the foiled switch in Moscow, when the Grief clone had been captured. Fear and anger coiled in the Senator's gut, but first and foremost she had to protect Alex. The best weapon was full disclosure. A full press release of the abduction and the putting their family in the national spotlight. Charles and Joe were going to hate that, but it would once and for all finish any agencies idea of trying to use Alex against his will.

As she texted her office, listening as Alex mumbled in his sleep. She wondered on her own ancestry, her own Russian babushka, her mother's mother whose family had emigrated in the 1920's. America welcomed all, especially those abused and in danger.

Alex woke and noted Mimi, Mom, had her hand on top of his cast, providing comfort. She was dozing. He pondered his room; with its soft blue walls, glass wall with view of the nurses station. He noted the tightness in his chest even with the oxygen. Probably from his bruised and cracked ribs. He was tired, hungry and thirsty; despite the breakfast he'd wolfed down not three hours ago. He needed to talk to Joe. Needed his doubts erased, especially after those bastards had called him Julius, insinuating that Blunt's plan to swap the double for the asset had worked, with the real Alex dead. Doubts and fears made his breath hitch; he took a deep breath, he was not going to cry. Only he had no control, he was weeping like a girl. Mimi was then sat on the bed stroking his hair, hugging him gingerly, careful of bandages and bruises. To this scene of Mother son bonding Joe arrived, after outpacing his Grandparents.

Alex sobered at the sight of his brother and demanded "Ask me…. ask me the questions we agreed as safeguards. Am I Julius or Alex. Ask me now!" Each of the boys imprisoned at Point Blanc had devised set questions between themselves to be used if they suspected a Grief clone was in play. Two questions swapped each.

Joe wondered on this questioning of his identity but with steely resolve asked "Name Paul's secret fear in kindergarten….."

"He was scared of balloons. Next question…"

"Cassian's first pet."

"An … a parrot…. a white parrot, who he taught to swear…. called Pirate."

Joe picked up his phone and called Paul Roscoe, "Morning Mr. Paranoia, ask Alex your set questions. He's having an identity crisis."

Alex listened in to the speaker as Paul at school in New York asked him the specific questions he'd swapped with Nick and James. Joe then said a quick thanks and 'I'll call you later." and then turned to the boy in the bed, looking younger than his sixteen years. "What was that all about?"

"The… the interrogator and his three minions… they called me Julius. It got to me. I … I started to doubt everything after the sleep depravation, beating and the water boarding. They were threatening me with electroshock when I escaped. They worked on my feet, thinking it would stop me running, but after Sarov, well I have quite a high pain threshold. I'm not one of Grief's abominations. Mine and Dimitry's doppelgängers are dead. I swear on all that is holy… Julius died in Russia… I'm Alex… I… I'm here and I need to keep going. You guys have given me hope…. They… they were hired in, freelance… they left to arrange my transfer to their customer. They never mentioned names or let on who or where I was headed, but calling me after that bastard means it was MI6." Alex had told Yassen everything in Moscow and he would have gone with Cossack with no need for threats or coercion.

Joe shrugged. "I know it was you with your whole polite when you hate something act. God, you are so British at times. Except you don't apologise for everything. Hell, you eat pie and cookies yet you hate sweet things. God, you freak Alex, you hate chocolate."

"Hey, I'm not that bad. I like coke." Alex whined after his character assassination.

Fran Graylow then murmured in Russian "So, what do you like, Sasha? Pickles and Pierogi?"

It was Joe than answered understanding that simple question in a language he was familiar with but not fluent. "Sushi and Sashimi. Pizza and Quesadillas. Anything savoury. Likes sour things as well. Pomegranate syrup and lemon citron. Yeah, complete and utter freak."

…

Breaking news in Baltimore this morning…. the foiled kidnap of Senator and General Canterbury's adopted son….. Alexander Canterbury escaped from his kidnappers last night. Two suspects in custody, two on the run. A full press conference at one."

….

In Japan, a tourist in Tokyo watched the news in his hotel room. His passport stated he was Danish. The killer for hire was here to poison a banker, a foreigner who had fallen foul of the Yakuza. His small vial of neurotoxin would be delivered at lunch tomorrow. He memorised all the details on the American International News, which stated some foolish opportunist had damaged his little Alex. He smiled as soon he would be hunting for pleasure not business. The four assailants would be a long term project. The Russian smiled at the thought of teaching them not to play with Hunter's son. The person or persons that had hired them would also be on the killer's personal hit list. His favourite type of hit was one that was personal, one where he could be creative and one where there was no need to rush. His revenge would be a thing of beauty, pain so beautiful in creation it would make Dr. Three smile. Maybe even make it into a future edition of that Infamous Torturer's Handbook.

….

Alex had been dressed in a smart polo shirt, genuine Ralph Lauren, with Gap cargo pants and a pair of worn hand-me-down Converse Allstars. Shoes belonging to Charles that were large enough to go round the bandages on his feet.

He looked the picture of American teenager, except for his purple cast and strapping on his fingers, and the fact his face was still a mix of grey and yellow bruises. He was so glad he was going home to Washington. Leaving hospital would hopefully, draw a line under this particularly bad week. Only he wasn't walking, not with his tender and damaged feet. He was lucky, Connie was still in hospital in DC, after nearly being killed by those fuckers. At least thinking swear words was not forbidden. In the emergency room, he had blabbed about owing the swear jar $457. Over five months in allowance. Under his breath he went over the litany of fucking cunts and wankers. If he got his swearing out now, he wouldn't slip when dad got here, nor during his TV appearance. Not with half of CNN at home for the planned interview. He was now part of the All-American family unit. He was going to be famous. Mimi stated the freedom of the press was intrinsically American and as a public servant she had to be open as secrets were potentially damaging in the long run. He was not a spy or a pawn, but an ill orphan, adopted and kidnapped by opportunistic criminals. It also helped to paint a sympathetic picture. Mom dressed in Donna Karan, Dad in uniform with his combat medals from Desert Storm

A small crowd had gathered around the Canterbury's home. Drawn there by the two large TV vans and a camera crew outside. A parking space directly in front of the house had been left for Charlie's BMW. Alex was carried up the steps to the front door by Charles in his uniform shirt, as the weather was hot. Joe needed no prompting to collect the wheelchair from the trunk, the perfect image of a thoughtful and protective big brother.

In the hall there were cables trailing along the walls. Charlie deftly steered clear of the clutter and went straight into the den and put his injured son on the sofa next to Mimi. The room was full of camera crew setting up, sound guys and producers.

Alex smiled shyly at the interviewer as he was introduced. She was a heavily made up, petite blond, dressed in Chanel and expensive looking shoes with staggeringly high heels. He murmured in Russian to Mimi "I would rather not be here, but in the interests of transparency and openness, Lets get this over with."

It had been going well, polite questions, but the producer had shattered the cosy atmosphere. His deep voice boomed that he wanted more direct questions and moved into Alex's personal space with a bark of "Come on kid, we need details."

Alex was used to flashbacks, having been treated for PTSD after Murmansk, but he knew he was panicking, overreacting to a nonexistent threat. He had no room for manoeuvring, so he panicked more. Breath in short desperate gasps as his mom moved in to calm him, not touching just telling him to hold his breath. That helped, as he slowly exhaled, he slumped back on the sofa and closed his eyes, he was shaking like a leaf. Joe, like a magician, produced a can of Coke and Alex sipped the sugary cold perfection through the straw as Joe held the can for him, while his mother inquired if they had enough recorded as Alexander needed to lie down.

Joe helped him hobble upstairs and then pulled off his brother's shoes and paused "I'm going to have to help you get the rest of your shit off, since you sleep in the buff, aren't I?"

With that mortifying thought Alex shook his head. "I'll just lie down on top of the covers. Just take my belt off."

"I'll bring your lunch up later, bro."

"Thanks J."

He had literally just closed his eyes when Mrs. Canterbury bustled in with a bright and cheery "Lunch, Alexander." The grey haired woman dressed in a conservative two piece suit put down her tray and surveyed the sparse room. "You keep a nice tidy room unlike Joseph. Eat up, get your strength back. Just a bit of advice, you are stronger than those lowlifes. Charlie let me read the transcript of your statement to CIC. It sounded like they were using mind games to break you. Joe stated that if someone did that to him , he'd have been freaking out." The woman shook her head and looked reflective. "That awful school, I feel for you both. To almost be replaced and erased. Truly despicable of that Criminal Grief."

"Thank you Mrs Canterbury. Grief did a number on all of us." Grandma took that as dismissal and left him to his repast. In truth, Alex was thinking that MI6 were worse, trying to replace him with Julius in Russia. After the incident at Brookland, they had told Alex his clone, died in the fire. He then wondered if any of his classmates wondered about him after two years in exile. James Hale and Tom Harris had been good friends, well no more than acquaintances at the end. It's not like he told anyone about the abuse. He then picked up his tuna sub and wolfed it down. It was delicious. The glass of ice cold milk even better.

The invalid, feeling restless, carefully negotiated the stairs and took his dishes downstairs, to see the film crew still waiting. Relieved of his tray, Alex was miked up and then spoke of his ordeal. He started with the snatch, "the armed thugs threatened and then almost killing Connie. In the back of the van, I was drugged with chloroform. Waking up I was handcuffed and tied to a chair." Alex paused, he had given his name, his new name only with no mention of Sarov or Rider. He had been cheeky, sarcastic and flippant. Which his interrogators had not liked. "There were four of them, all guys, all tight lipped around me. Professionals, they gave nothing away. It was hours with no sleep, no food or drink, just questions. Two guys acting as interrogators". Alex did not tell the journalist's that the bastards had called him Julius and Grief. "I got annoyed because they were asking about specific stuff. I can't tell you anymore because the federal agents said that information was not to be disclosed. I had a bit of a potty mouth moment. Then, the guy playing bad cop got rough. The quiet guy in the back stopped him after they broke my fingers and removed my toenails. They had a break, but another guy kept me awake. Then they started with the water. I thought they were going to drown me. It was awful, I could not answer their questions. I begged them to stop." With another pause for Alex to hold his breath, preventing another panic attack. "I was then left with the driver. He forgot to retie me to the chair. He did not think I was a threat, not with my injured feet. So, he fell asleep and I bashed him over the head with the chair, stole his keys and escaped. I ran about a mile or so to the diner."


	9. Chapter 9

Alex woke with a start, it took him a moment to realise he was alone. He relaxed back into the bed and went over every aspect of the dream, as he had dreamt Yassen was in his room, stroking his face. Not a nightmare, as the teenager was painfully hard and had no means to relieve himself, not with two splinted hands. Barely able to lift a glass of water never mind turn on a tap or wank himself stupid. He swore out loud in frustration in Japanese, a language he knew neither Mimi, Charlie or Joe spoke. He then laughed, slightly hysterically at his complete folly, aroused by a murderer and terrorist. None of the bastards last week had turned him on, not like Cossack; who was far more deadly. A man who should fuel nightmares not wet dreams.

The Russian was more enemy than friend, nonetheless one who had recused Dima and himself from the Grief clone. As the the former antagonists were holed up in that grim apartment in Moscow, they had bonded during Alex's prolonged periods of insomnia. The young Russian had slept deeply as the two others conversed. The assassin had spoken briefly of his work and his training with Alex's father. John Rider had been a deadly accurate assassin and a gifted torturer, a favourite of Dr. Three. Alex had been both horrified and fascinated by the description of the expert on pain and the psychology of interrogation.

The sixteen year old then closed his eyes and exhaled. At fourteen, he had lived through weeks of interrogation by the FSB and their dedicated medical personnel. He shivered and swore again as he could not write up his journal for Dr. Majors. The illuminated clock said it was 4:11AM. He was not allowed to get his dressings wet, so a shower was out of the question, as was going for a run or any form of physical exercise. Two to three weeks needed for his hands to heal seemed like an eternity.

The teenager crept downstairs for a snack, knowing there was leftover Chinese takeaway in the refrigerator. An egg roll would solve a multitude of ills. The microwave seemed horrifically loud as it heated through the snack. He bit into, savouring the salty and greasy delight. Here he was eating in the middle of the night when he had barely eaten two mouthfuls last night. Faced with Jack's favourite take out, he suddenly felt out of place; a coward. He had been in America for weeks, but he had made no attempt to track down the woman who had been the closest thing to a parent to a lonely and neglected boy. Three bites of his snack and his stomach felt like lead. He knew he could not talk to her, not draw her back into his life of lies and legends.

Joe, an always ravenous teenager, came into the kitchen after the smell of food drifted upstairs, and fancying a snack himself. He had put in an all-nighter on-line, corresponding across the globe, discussing hacking and conspiracy theories. He knew he'd get to sleep in, as all were concentrating on getting Alex to resettle into the family routine. He walked into the kitchen to see Alex barfing into the sink. Thinking his brother was ill, he turned around to get a responsible adult to deal with the mess and possibly the need to get Alex back to hospital.

Alex grumbled as he was forced into the car by Charlie, not from pain, but sheer pigheadedness. "I'm fine! I just should not have eaten the egg roll."

"You barely ate last night and you have a temperature of 101 degrees; which is definitely not fine. I agree and egg roll at 4AM is not your best idea, maybe next time you need a snack but feel a bit off, eat rice cakes."

Going in the car was a bad idea, luckily the General had come prepared as Alex vomited into a bag rather than over himself or the carpet. Waiting to see the doctor in the Emergency Room, Alex prayed he was not going to be readmitted, he loathed hospitals. He preferred Ian's attitude of get up, stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it. Then came the embarrassment of Charlie helping him strip to put on a gown for the teenager to get his vital signs measured, blood taken and answer a million questions. The doctor pondered the results, after an hour another doctor arrived and stated that the sickness was a reaction to the antibiotics, a change of medication was needed. Alex had forgotten all about the list of possible side effects, but it could have been worse, he could have turned yellow with jaundice. With his new tablet regime from the pharmacy, the advice to drink plenty of fluids, take Tylenol to help with the fever and eat soft bland foods to help with his upset stomach. Alex was back being an invalid and he already hated every minute of it. It was going to take all his self control to remain neutral and calm.

…..

Alex stopped himself mid rant and turned to face his therapist. "Fuck! I'm sorry, Luke. I got caught in the moment. Here I am ranting at you and the shit storm has nothing to do with you."

The forty three year old smiled and put down his pen. "You are allowed to be angry. I'm being paid whether you're polite or venting. Sometimes getting the emotions out is cathartic. I would stop you if I thought you were out of line."

Like a mantra, Alex explained his position, "Anger is loosing control. I've spent the best part of two years hiding my emotions, bottling up the pain, hurt, fear, anger and hate. It's like I'm trying to be Jedi but succeeding in being Sith. I find I work things through while I do my katas. Rationalise and compartmentalise. So, it's OK to be completely pissed off by being useless at the moment. Not allowed to do anything strenuous. I feel a lot better with my new meds. Not so tired and lethargic. I have a decent appetite again. Not Chinese food though, that makes me want to vomit even now. The nutritionist says I should avoid fatty foods, but Joe brought me a whopper home yesterday and it was fab."

Luke Majors chuckled "nice try at avoidance and a diversion, but you were talking about your holiday to Baltimore Docks. So there was cough-boy, the sniffer, evil-bastard and henchman no. 1. So, they were all pathetically low rent thugs. Not a patch on your old friend Yassen. Please explain, because those guys hurt you, played with your deepest fears and tried to brainwash you."

"There would have been no try with Yassen, nor any attempt of escape on my part. If he caught me and was out to trade me or remake me, it would happen. Cossack does not make mistakes. He would break me and remake me with the expertise expected of Dr. Three's protege. Sniffer thought I was a kid, not in a compassionate or kind way, but as a waste of his time and expertise. I played up the snivelling the 'please let me go home' and crying like a baby to reenforce their assessment. What they did to me was no worse than Sarov. I... I know my file states I broke under FSB interrogation, but they had me for weeks, they have questioning down to an art without the need for casual brutality. Breaking bones and incapacitating your asset is just not cricket. Yassen still scares the crap out of me. I have no illusions, he will kill me as soon as his strange infatuation stops. He does not leave loose ends or casual witnesses. I owe him for not killing Dima and I worry what my forfeit will be." Alex paused and contemplated telling the psychologist about his dream last night. "I dream about him. All lean blond and blue eyed perfection. I have the hots for the guy who murdered my uncle. I asked Yassen about shooting Ian, he just shrugged and said he'd killed lots of people. He scares me because I empathise totally with a casual killer and that I'll end up just like him."

Luke noted down the lost and forlorn expression on his patient's face, for once not guarded, blank or the perfection of fake cheeriness. "You must see the similarities between Joe and yourself?"

Alex liked his brother and all of his adopted family, they were great; but trouble had followed him here. His whole demeanour darkened into a deep frown. "Joe's OK, we have common ground. He's been tempered by misfortune, survived, coped and thrived as you put it. His whole family is loving and supportive. So many of them as well, grandparents and cousins. Its a lot to get used to. Only, I'm the odd one out. No coping or thriving here. They'd be fine without me, they don't need me nor the trouble I attract. The loneliness and isolation I felt in Russia is still here. I don't belong. It's like I'm just pretending to be a Canterbury and I'm waiting for someone to come along with a new legend any moment. Nothing is permanent, but that's fine. I was trained to deal with it."

...,

Alex sat in the waiting room as Luke had a word with Charlie. Probably to arrange more head shrinking, considering he'd opened up today and revealed what a freak he was.

He wanted to get home, to bother Joe, wanting to hear all about school and normal things, not navel gazing on his own shortcomings. He liked laying on Joe's bed listening about casual hazing American style. He sat and traced the scars on his right inner wrist. The good life, stability and family; things that had been all been promised before. Had it failed just because of Alex? Probably, even Ian had not loved him. Just trained him to be a weapon for MI6. He took a deep breath, he had parents who would fight his corner. Mimi who was thinking five moves ahead, including if his past came out in the open. Reassuring their adopted son, that he had been an abused child, period. No agency should have used him. He was fighting to be normal, but that was the ultimate lie. Alex Rider had been erased and Alexander Canterbury was floundering. He needed to gain perspective. Focus on Mimi, Charlie and Joe. Three years ago, this had been his ultimate dream, family and unconditional love and acceptance. Did he deserve it? Why were they bothering?

…

Alex had been allowed one last visit to see Alexei in the Lubyanka, before going to Siberia with Dimitry. To say goodbye. The General had looked so different: broken, scruffy and old. The man had tried to be cheerful and upbeat and had whispered when they were alone, "Don't despair in exile, beautiful heart. Be strong. Do not mourn me. I played the hard game and now I must pay for my failures. Never forget that I am so glad you stayed my hand, quelled the madness. Truly beautiful, good and so moral. I love you, Aleksandr."

Alex had tried to smile, tried to say the words. He croaked "I will miss you, father. Goodbye." He did not love Alexei. He had tried to make himself believe his current legend; but the past, the pain and humiliation of those days in Cuba, that had been the real Alexei Sarov. In fear of being found out, the man had pretended to be a father, to have a family again, to be the man who had raised a dutiful son. Alex was not Vladimir. The teenager was already a survivor, not a patriot.

Alex had forgotten he'd fallen asleep on Joe's bed. His brother was staring at him, concerned and frightened. The dream… the memory of the awful day Sarov had died. The man he had called father for ten months. A man with so many enemies. A man who had deserved his lonely death. A bullet to his head, so he could join Vladimir.

Joe looked at his brother who had been mumbling in Russian, the only word he had understood had been father. Alex looked pale, clammy, like he was going to be sick. "Don't puke on my bed, Sasha. I'll help you into the bathroom. Puke anywhere there is fine."

Alex allowed himself to be lead downstairs to the family bathroom. A cool flannel washing his face as he sat on the toilet. The soft cotton towel then followed.

"Back to your room?" Joe asked, unsure if Alex was unwell or just disturbed by his night terror.

"My room's OK."

Both boy's stopped in the hall outside, and listened to their parent's talking. "…. depressed… lost…. needs to be watched….. slashed his wrists before.."

Alex felt icy cold with dread, not clinic again. He slumped against the wall and practically begged Joe, "I promise, I won't… I'll be good… Just don't send me back. I can't go back. Please, I'll try harder. Smile more. Look I can smile."

Joseph Charles Canterbury looked at the pale ill form of his friend grinning like death. Nothing cheerful or hopeful, just pretence. "I won't let them send you anywhere you don't want to go. Even if we both have to run for it. Paul will put us up. I promise Sasha, Alex. We're brothers now. No backing out. You stand by me and I'll stand by you. Now, get in bed. I'll read you three chapters of the Prisoner of Azkaban. That'll get you sleepy, I promise."


	10. Chapter 10

In the early morning mist, Alex held his breath and squeezed the trigger, his sight on his target beyond the barn. In half an hour, there were ten less rats eating the cattle feed. Bill Graylow laughed and patted the teen on the shoulder as he cleared the spent cartridge on his .22 single shot rifle. "Good shot, son. Lets go get breakfast." The rifle bought as a present for Joe seven years ago, his grandson had refused to even shoot targets, never mind squirrels, rabbits, rats or deer. The Russian boy had no qualms about killing vermin and had briefly spoken of hunting with his father and his friend Dima. This winter, venison would again grace their table, when Alexander was fit enough to track and butcher a buck. The seventy year old had watched over Alex as he stripped, cleaned and reassembled the rifle last night. The teenager had listened to the lecture on gun safety without any backchat or snide comments on gun control. Their new grandson was meant to be resting up, eating his four meals a day and getting enough sun to strengthen his bones, only he was happy to do more than simple chores help in the kitchen or take out the trash; he had helped feed the herd and muck out the barn.

Joe was a boy who had grown up with staff doing the housekeeping. He visited the farm, but was a city boy at heart, one with firm ideas of meat as murder and commercial farming as evil. All ideas he had not gotten from his parents. Their grandson had grown up loved, wanted, pampered and spoiled. One attempt at strict discipline after his arrest for stealing and wrecking a car had almost ended in tragedy. Not that Joe had stepped a toe out of line since, the boy stuck to his room mostly as if going out in the fresh air was inviting trouble.

In the utility, Alexander was washing his hands, careful as if his fingers still hurt despite his cast and splints coming off last week. The table already set with fresh biscuits, home style gravy, oatmeal, coffee, juice and milk. Alexander had milked his first cow, made yogurt, butter and cheese. The boy talked sparingly of his own family, the bastard who had whipped his own child. The 16 year old had more nightmares over his late father than those thugs who hurt him last month. It had been hard for Mimi, juggling work without the backup of Connie. Daphne Canterbury had spent three weeks holding the fort in Washington, now Alex was here to give Grandma a rest.

Fran handed the boy his meds and ruffled his blond hair. "You suit it longer." She said softly in Russian. "Come on, get a biscuit down you before Bill eats them all."

…..

Alex was meant to be resting after breakfast, having a nap like he was a preschooler. He pulled out his phone to read Joe latest text, 'Jamie arriving on the 30th… staying in NYC…. no more cows!' He lay on the bottom bunk and sighed. The food was the best he'd eaten in his entire life. Home cooked breakfast, lunch, dinner and supper. The herd of thirty prize heritage bullocks and cows were all named. Fran and Bill was like the grandparents out of a novel, he was waiting for the wolf to blow the house down. He did not trust the certainty Charlie's promise that Blunt's game was up. There was no chance of their son ever going back to MI6, not ever considering the attempted kidnapping and poorly executed brainwashing. What had Joe's Grief clone been planning in the long run, future president no doubt. What was he going to do in this situation, survive and thrive. This afternoon he was going to help at the church yard sale raising funds for medical aid and educational funds for war orphans in Iraq. Hence the need for his morning resting.

…..

Fran had four boxes of clothes, games and books collected. Alex had his allowance and was on the look out for expanding his sparse wardrobe and few personal effects. He had pretty much read all of Joe's collection of books and would be spending his spare time at on a local library to stave off boredom, but he was still on practical house arrest considering his last outing had ended in disaster. He knew he had to start giving back to both his family and his new home and community. In the fall, he could start karate again, ask about skiing and go running with Charlie, but he was getting a crash course on patience of another kind. Life had been stifling in Russia, but here it was his own body that needed rest and recuperation. He rolled onto his side, closing his eyes. He might even make some friends, that would be a novel experience. He was still sure the Point Blanc crew only accepted him out of an overblown sense of gratitude. He had been fighting to keep himself alive. In these high stress moment their had been no thought of Jamie and the others, just himself.

Alex saw Mrs. Canterbury talking to a group of older ladies by the door organising the merchandise. A woman who was effortlessly friendly but formal at the same time, very much a nurse. He could not imagine calling her Grandma like Joe or worse her given name, Daphne. "Hey, Mrs. Canterbury. Where do I put Fran's goodies?"

"You should not be carrying heavy items, Alexander. Dan… Dan…. get the boxes out of the pickup."

A spotty teen with a shock of red hair dressed in his scout uniform looked at the new arrival "So, you must be the Russkie adopted by Joe's mom and dad. Welcome to the decadent west."

"Thanks, I think. I'm here to snap up some cool threads."

"Good luck with that. Most of this stuff was fashionable around 1984."

….

School was over for ten weeks and the newly free sixteen year old was packing his bag for his two weeks with his friends and brother, plus his mom tagging along. Alex would be home soon, from his boring week in boring-ville, Pennsylvania. That joy awaited in August for the whole family.

He heard the door slam and Joe practically flung himself down the two flights of stairs to the hall, where he hugged Alex like they had been parted for months not a mere six days, "God you look tanned and I swear you've grown!"

Alex beamed and hugged his brother tightly back, as being stuck with grandparents, his new family who just accepted this interloper, had helped kerb his urge to run for the hills. "I guess summer recess agrees with you because you look relaxed and ready to party with Paul."

"NYC here we come! Its going to be so creepy seeing the guys again, but good as well. Haven't heard back if Cassian's joining the party, his mom's worried about those bastards who snatched you. No chance of anything happening, not with the security Paul's grandma pays for. He has two bodyguards with him at school every day."

Alex had already packed, having bought three shirts, two pairs of jeans and a pile of fourteen books. His favourite was a book of spiritual quotations. He was exploring not just christianity, but buddhism and hinduism. He was relying on the meditation and grounding from karate lessons to ground himself and keep the panic and uncertainty at bay. Inner strength, resilience, fortitude, tempering faith, hope and charity were ideals to live by. He was not the sad, scared and lonely boy he had been in Russia. He was beginning to like himself again. He would never be a child again, all innocence gone. He had survived and he was going to thrive, just like Joe, Paul, Jamie and Cassian. Tom McMorin was currently grounded as he had broken curfew one too many times and was likely to be on restriction until his 18th birthday considering he stated he was going partying this weekend as his mother was still a bitch.

…..

Paul Roscoe lived on Fifth Avenue in a palatial apartment, seven bedrooms, four reception rooms, kitchen, terrace, six bathrooms. He lived here with his mother's mother, Marie Sandford-Brown. In the choice between supporting her traumatised grandson or taking sides with her foolish daughter, who had preferred the cuckoo; the matriarch had become both mother and father to her hellion grandson. She was an expert on tough love, as she had built up her late husbands business while putting her daughter through college from a few units in Brooklyn to the city wide commercial success bought out by what had been Roscoe Electronics Emporiums. Then Rachelle and Michael had married, had a son and divorced. Marie now protected her and her grandson's future from both the board, the trust and her misguided progeny. She was reading minutes and agenda but was distracted as she listened to Paul playing the piano, a slow melancholy piece. Proficient, clean and perfect for his conflicted feelings over the visit of his school friends; boys imprisoned with him. Reminders of the circumstances of his father's murder and his own powerlessness.

For the first time in two years she would be entertaining, not her friend's but friends of Paul's. All from that school were well connected. She was going to network, build from this life stripped down to the barest of foundations. Paul trusted her, a trust that had been hard won. They were a team. It was rumoured that Senator Canterbury had formerly had political ambitions of running as a presidential candidate. Connections to Washington would not hurt, not if her son followed in her footsteps. From despair, Paul might be making the most fortuitous friends for his future as Director and Majority shareholder of a global business empire. The one unusual guest was the son recently adopted by Mimi and Charles, the spy working MI6, not the child of David Friend; who was a guest of the Russian's for two years. She would love to know what that was all about.

…..

Sonny Troy had traced his daughter to her last black ops mission in Miami and Cuba. He had a copy of the security footage from the hotel. The short loop of footage showed her arriving with her 'husband and son'. The same blond boy who had been photographed with his father Alexei Sarov six days later during a refuelling stop in Edinburgh. Alex Gardiner, then Aleksandr Sarov and now Alexander Canterbury. The facial recognition programmmer, who the retired cop had hired, had confirmed the high probability that this was the same teenager, one who had just escaped his kidnappers in Baltimore. He had followed a hunch and now he was close to finding out if Belinda was still alive or how she had died. He was sick of the stony silence from the CIA, who stated she had never worked for them. All he wanted was closure. He might not have been the best father in the world, but his daughter Belinda was all the family he had.


	11. Chapter 11

The ex cop was happy to be back on home turf, even if he was on stake-out, trailing the party of five teenager's sightseeing accompanied by three bodyguards. The Empire State Building first thing, now the Museum of Modern Art. He bet it was the Guggenheim next or maybe Central Park, though he should not discount shopping on Fifth Avenue, considering all their parents and guardians were rich. The team dynamic clearly had all protective of the blond kid, slightly shorter than his brother and the others. Skinnier, frailer and the youngest, they deferred to his slower pace, the need to sit and catch his breath. The bodyguards were conferring with the Roscoe heir. The group moved on and Alex stayed looking at the wall of soup cans with one guy loitering. The teenager then got up to stroll around the other Warhol's before he backtracked and stopped by Sonny Troy.

…..

Alex had noticed the tail. Igg, Ook and Ogg were completely unaware of the old guy shadowing them. The teenager observed the guy, no camera so not paparazzi, hanging back and observing so probably not a reporter; then the guy stretched his neck to the left, a mannerism he knew from his one time mom from three summers ago. Was this guy Belinda's dad? If so he had tracked Alex down with next to no clues. Knowing the bastards who ran black ops the old man probably had no idea his daughter was dead, nor in what circumstances. Alex wiped his face and held his breath for ten seconds to avert panic after being drawn back into the memory of his last diving trip. Joe of course, noted his momentary freak out straight away.

Joe helped his bro to a viewing couch and hoped there would be no repeats of barfing. "Paul, I think Alex needs a major time out. Maybe, we should head to the restaurant and chill for a bit."

Alex smiled and gripped Joe's hand. "No, you guys wanted to check out the Dali's, the Lichtensteins and the Picasso's. I … I'll go to the Italian place on my own or i can call Mom to come and get me. Its meant to be a guy's day out. I just need a bit of a breather."

Paul stared as Joe fussed his brother, Alex's eyes closed and his breathing distinctly odd as their hero held his breath again, staving off panic. Was it soup can's or the bright colours? "Dino, take Alex straight to Il Gatopardo, get him a drink of water and a snack, something light, maybe one of their excellent cakes."

"Good thinking, Paul. Alex's meds are hardcore. Mom and dad always carry raisins and rice cakes. I'm not so organised, neither is baby Sasha though. You go get your blood sugar sorted out and no barfing near the million dollar artwork, OK?"

"Sure mom" Alex answered cheekily. Now he just had to loose Ogg and he could chat with Grandpa.

….

Ogg got off his phone, happy to go back to his job. "Your mom is on her way. Stay put. No wandering from here. She'll be 10 minutes tops. I'll let the gallery security over there know to keep an eye on you. If you feel ill go straight to him, he has my phone number."

Alex nodded and acquiesced with "Yeah, thanks. I guess a rest is just what I need."

He watched the guy go back to babysitting Paul, the security in the corner was surrounded by a gaggle of Japanese tourists, so Alex got up and circled his prey.

The wall of screen printed portraits was where Alex stood next to his shadow. "Good Morning Grandfather."

"What the fuck?" The gruff guy exclaimed in shock, but had enough spyycraft to not betray their off the record conversation.

With a grim smile, Alex told this grieving father just how dirty espionage was. "Belinda was my mom for two weeks. Only the second woman to have that dubious pleasure." Not that Alex had any illusions that either the CIA spy nor Lady Caroline Friend

had any maternal feelings for him. "So, I have about seven minutes before my very protective mother in every sense arrives to drag me away to an early lunch."

"Is my daughter alive?"

Alex closed his eyes and sighed. "Langley told you nothing?"

"The CIA denied employing my daughter. So, I have pieced together that you, my daughter and her partner were masquerading as the Gardiner family. You went on holiday to Cuba and then Aleksandr Sarov travelled to Russia. No sign of Belinda or the other guy."

"My very fake dad was Tom Turner. She and he were investigating Sarov. They were killed diving at the Devil's Chimney near Cayo Esqueleto. I was there. I went to investigate when they overran on their dive. The blood… the blood had attracted great white sharks. It had been a trap, so yeah, Tom and Belinda both died. I nearly did… the fact Sarov did not kill me was my resemblance to his dead son. I spent a ten months with a sadistic nutter for a father and it was another year before the CIA got me out in an exchange of spies. If I had been an adult I would have been tortured to death in Cuba. I was tortured, brutally. I.. I survived only because the Russian's treated me as an abused child who the CIA should not have endangered. I also kept tabs on Sarov for them. I had no choice, but to do everything the FSB wanted. As you know everyone denies everything when its the blackest of black ops. Sarov was well connected. His best friend was Boris Kiriyenko, he was the one to push for the CIA to leave me alone. I'd love to tell you all about Siberia, but our time is up. If you want to have a proper chat, I'll be at my real grandparent's in two weeks. Two Creeks Farm, Buck Road, Harrisburg. Fran and Bill are friendly and will understand. Closure is important." Alex walked back to the bench.

The cop watched the kid put his head in his lap. Pale, shaking and obviously an absolute mess after his misuse by those bastards in Virginia. His daughter had taken a kid into a communist country as cover, where discovery had lead to the kid's torture and imprisonment. He obviously did not know that bitch at all. He had thought of her as a victim and she had been as bad as those that had sent her to her death.

He stood and watched a smartly dressed woman in her early to mid fifties with a mousy brown bob approach and sit next to Alexander. She coaxed the boy into a hug and then the pair walked off to the elevators. The kid had a family now and did not need a bitter widower to drag his name through the mud, not when he was still recovering and possibly still in danger from his former abusers.

…..

With the boys, minus Alex, watching movies in Paul's room. Alex was already asleep, with the help of his tranquillisers and a hectic day. It had been the first time Alex had taken his anti-anxiety medication without a fuss.

At lunch Alex had no appetite and had eaten half a roll and a glass of granita, when the other boys had wolfed down three courses. Dieter had offered to join the boys and sit with Alex, while his son and the others went iceskating and both had returned home rather than carry on with Paul's itinerary showing off all the great things about Manhattan. The dour German was proficient but not fluent in English. Preferring to make conversation with James and Alex in his native tongue. In the kitchen, he made coffee and got a box of kokosmakronen from his guest room. "I find American cookies both bland and too sweet. James says I'm boring and parochial. Look at the variety of donuts, give me a berliner any day."

Alex helped himself to the delicate coconut morsel covered in bitter dark chocolate. These were not cheap supermarket fodder, but the product of a very good quality bakery, probably round the corner rom the Sprintz's home. "I'm not meant to drink coffee, but this is heavenly. The stuff they called coffee in Siberia was like mud and Sarov never touched the stuff."

"Viennese blend. Better with whipped cream on top, but I'm watching my weight. I limit myself to my snacks on special occasions and celebrating my son's health and freedom with the boy who rescued him is one such occasion. Your health, Mr. Canterbury." Dieter sipped the bitter drink and savoured his own snack. "You can ask anything of me, up to half my fortune and I would willingly part with it. James says you'll defer and keep the boon for when you most need it. If I had known you needed rescuing I would have made sure you free. The letters from Dimitry said you were happy with Sarov, yet you do not cal him father?"

"Happy? Caged more like. I was a pet in his zoo. He tortured me into submission. I'm too young to hate, but he was a psychopath. Prison in Siberia was heaven compared to 24/7 pretending to be the image of his perfect son." Alex seemed to be spending today reminiscing in the worst of times. "It was worst than Point Blanc and they threatened to dissect me alive there. Its so different here. Easy, calm, accepting. I have a wonderful psychologist and I'll keep him on his toes for the next few years. Then again, Joe sees him as well. I take it James is still in therapy?"

"So am I. I… I was…. I am a hard businessman, ruthless even, but so sheltered from true evil. Those clones, Grief and Sarov were evil." The German was at a loss, wanting to comfort the teenager sat across from him, when Alexander seemed older, wiser and more world weary than he or any of the adults here. "You must bother me if you need quiet or just a decent cup of coffee. My open offer, I am rich enough to buy a lot of things and now my eyes are open, you can pay for anything if you know the right people."

Alex sighed. "Don't go there, Mr. Sprintz. You need to concentrate on James and your future and not worry about the world I was briefly caught up in. I have decided my health is my most pressing problem and I'm getting excellent care courtesy of the United States Government. In a year I hope to be fit as I can be. My lungs are damaged. I will never be a threat to anyone again. I would suggest you obtain proof over the events at Point Blanc and make sure James clone never is in a position to harm either of you. Mine and Dima's clones are dead. Joe's and Paul's clones are in a maximum security federal prison. I have no idea about the others. I daren't ask James, Hugo or Nicholas, considering mine still fuels my nightmares."

The fifty year old pondered his response, but settled on the brutal truth for this capable young man, "Umm, in a French Military Facility. One similar to Guantanamo but in the Pacific. Top secret, very remote and thoroughly suitable for those abominations."

…..

Yassen Gregorovich had traced two mercenaries to a not so safe house in Rosarito. The two were drinking with whores, unaware they were prey to the deadliest and most accomplished executioner and torturer on SCORPIA's books. Dr. Three had wished him happy hunting. The poison added to the air conditioning unit would incapacitate all in the house. The would regain consciousness in two to five hours, if given the antidote; if not they would wake tomorrow and die a slow agonising death over several days. A death far too merciful for his new victims. While unconscious they would be transferred to the hold of a Malaysian cargo ship. There the student of Dr. Three would conduct his experiments in a specially converted container during the long journey across the Pacific. None of the crew would venture near, nor hear the screams in the hold far from the accommodation unit.


	12. Chapter 12

After four days of playing tourist and establishing a close friendship based on the strong foundations established in 2001, all boys were laid in Paul's room watching Alex, who had fallen asleep while they took turns playing Prince of Persia on the latest of Paul's gaming consoles. Paul looked at his bedside clock, "Pizzas are arriving in five minutes so you better wake your bro up, J."

Joe knew all the responsible adults were out at the theatre tonight, with the two bodyguards on duty acting as minders. He did not want to wake Alex up, but his meds were due. In the past four nights the invalid had stayed awake with the round robin of sleepovers, which had resulted in lots of talk, games, stories and confessions. They were all a bit jaded after accumulating a severe lack of sleep. "Hey, baby boy time for your meds."

"Fuck off, J. I woke me up when pizza was mentioned. I'm ravenous." Alex rolled onto his side and gave his brother a death glare for the baby boy comment, like he was only five months younger than Joe and only six weeks younger than Jamie.

"OK, but Mom said you had to have salad as well, but if we shove it down the waste disposal no-one here will grass you up." Joe might be vegetarian but with the choice of pizza or health food, pizza won every time.

"I need the roughage, better that than constipation anyway." Alex grinned as he got the poo reference in first. Deflecting attention away as he knew full well he was a weird teenager, preferring salad to sugar. Pizza was better than the type of meals Paul's grandmother preferred, as Alex tended to lose interest in eating after the starter. He guessed both Dieter and Mimi had suggested a grownups night out for Alex to actually eat more than few mouthfuls. He suddenly missed Connie and felt homesick for the farm; with biscuits for breakfast, homemade simple dishes all perfect for a boy with an iffy appetite. Bill had definitely married Fran for her skill in the kitchen. Restaurants here all seemed to serve portions for giants and he'd been ridiculed for ordering kid's meals.

With his first slice finished, Alex started on his salad knowing Paul and Joe were tying at five pieces each already and Jamie had started slice number four. Cassian put his fork into the mixed salad and savoured the mouthful like a connoisseur. "Not bad, but I prefer Romaine salad myself. Love love love vinaigrette dressing and shaved parmesan.

Alex shrugged "I ate shit in Russia. I thought food served during training Brecon was bad, not a patch on truly awful stuff served in Siberia. The kasha resembled and tasted like over salted glue. I asked for fresh fruit for my birthday. I got a completely black banana. Traded it for three joints 'cause there was no way I was eating it. I went shopping with Connie and I bought figs, nectarines and white peaches. God I had the worst stomach ache after gorging on them. White peaches, fuck I'd love one now."

Paul stopped eating and went into the kitchen and came back with a perfect peach and put it on Alex's plate. Once again, their host had listened to everything Alex said but did not directly interact with him. The puzzled sixteen year old guest of honour was in two minds whether to discuss their hosts shyness or strange aversion to direct interaction with his brother; as Joe and Paul were close to BFFs. Was it the fact Alex had been open about his sexuality or that he was ill? Either way it was bugging him. Then again, Paul had been a bit standoffish in Grenoble, but that was understandable he'd found out his mom was happily bonding with the evil twin and his father was dead. Alex needed to clear the air. He just expected to get the cold hard truth that he was a freak thrown at him.

The team consensus had been to actually get some rest. All the boys had been in bed before the culture vultures got back. The apartment was quiet at midnight. Joe was snoring, wrapped in his comforter like a chrysalis. Alex got up and moved silently down the hall past the guest rooms for Cassian and Jamie, Mimi and then Dieter and he knocked softly on Paul's door. There was a pause before the tall blond with startling blue eyes opened his door. He blushed seeing Alex wearing nothing but a pair of shorts; then mumbled "Come in." Politeness drilled into the American by his grandmother, as manners and etiquette were the mark of a gentleman.

Alex stood and took in the tall blonds body language and pondered the silence; then smiled at his sudden revelation, he had not factored in the Paul had developed a crush on him. "I… I get I make you nervous. I just wanted to clear the air between us. So, you like me?"

"Yeah, you're a great friend, better than anyone at school here. You are super cool, Lex. I guess I've not been a brilliant host. Hell, you're standing here and I haven't offered you a seat." Paul had stepped back and was still inspecting the carpet rather than look at the boy visiting his room.

It was like the world stopped, Alex was caught in the moment. The first and last person he's been attracted to had been Yassen Gregorovich. The embodiment of beautiful and dangerous, a link to his past both good and bad, but mostly bad. That killer was more a hero to him than anyone he had worked or been partnered with. Paul was in love with the ideal of Alex the hero, but he wasn't that. He was jaded, dirty and mindful of his promise to his brother, not to jump into sex. To consider his sexuality, attraction and love. Paul was tall, beautiful and fragile; still recovering as they all were from the events in France. It would be easier just to take advantage of this situation; as Paul would never make a move as the ultimate gawky, shy and awkward virgin. So easy to seduce with a kiss, an offer to blow him or more.

"Do you just want sex, because that's easy. I… I used to trade hand jobs, blow jobs for stuff. Never went all the way, so I'm a bit of a whore, a player, whatever. You can date someone nice at school. Someone not used, not bitter and not used to thinking sex is easy. I've never been on a date or played the game of love. Sex has nothing to do with love. Hell, families are a new ball game. So, if its just a tumble you want well I'm here and willing. Get this out of your system and try the goods."

…..

The alarm went off at 8, Alex woke and realised he was practically naked in Paul's bed. Paul was also just wearing his shorts, but had wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and morning wood pressed against Alex's thigh. Sleeping in sounded like a great idea, but he needed to get back into his own room. Rather than just leave, Alex kissed Paul's cheek, "Wake up, beautiful. I need to go back to my room."

Paul woke and kissed Alex chastely. "Nice idea, Lexie; but we are in the strange situation of actually dating." The taller boy stretched and sat up. "You and I agreed this was something more and not just about sexual gratification, no friends with benefits. I need to convince you that dating is more than sharing bodily fluids, no matter how tempting it would be just to take what you offered."

Alex sighed, he had agreed to a date, one day at a time for what was going to be a mostly long distance relationship. "I'm going to break the good news to Joe. I bet he thinks I've been up to no good, not talking most of the night with you trying to convince me that I'm your ideal boyfriend. You are going to be so sadly disappointed because, Mr. Roscoe, I am trouble."

Sitting up and seeing Alex leave, Paul laid back in his bed, completely exhausted but so happy he had a boyfriend. He then rolled over for another couple of hours of sleep on this sunny Saturday.

…

With a swift look along the hall, Alex bolted back to his own room to shower. As he silently closed the door, Joe sat up and twisted his face in disgust. "Please tell me you have not been fucking Jamie's dad."

Alex stood still for a moment pondering the fact he had been very friendly with Dieter all week, conversing in a language his brother barely knew how to say yes and no in. He had not been overtly friendly or flirted with anyone else. He smiled and then shrugged apologetically "I cleared the air with Paul. He's been holding a torch for me. I know I promised not to act on my impulses, to talk out being sexually active with my shrink. Well, what can I say, Paul's an Adonis and I offered. It took him about four hours to convince me he was not after sex but everything. A relationship. So, Paul and I are going on a date later."

Joe was half mad at Alex for offering himself to Paul, but more mad at the fact Paul had asked Alex out. "So, why are you coming back at 8 not 4, asshat?"

Alex smiled and blushed, "I don't get that he wants me, J. I'm used goods." Rather than get the usual pep talk on what a great person he was, when he wasn't; Alex went to have a shower.

The brown haired teenager then lay back down on the bed and knew he would have to get Alex to tell mom and Luke. In fact, he needed to have a chat with mom himself and he got up went to get breakfast.

…

Jamie was already sat with his dad, taking advantage of Paul's taste in food by eating a huge bowl of Froot Loops. Mimi was dressed ready for lunch with friends from her old law firm. She could see that the cogs were working overtime as Joe sat down and get himself his own bowl of cereal.

Two mouthfuls swallowed and Joe was getting more irate. "Mom, how do we get Al to have some self esteem. He's just told me he's used goods. By the way, Paul asked my baby brother out on a date and I want to smash his face in for doing it."

Mimi's considered reply was interrupted by Paul's grandmother. "That's wonderful news. I was afraid Paul would keep his feelings to himself. He finally got a chance to ask Alex out. Did he agree? I suppose I'll have to wait for the boys to organise themselves. Chez Henri has a wonderful tasting menu, perfect for a first date."

Joe sat open mouthed in shock. Paul's Grandmother was completely OK with a gay grandson and the prospect of him dating. It was Alex's choice to date, to explore relationships and put the horror of trading himself in the past. "Mom, Paul needs a bitch slapping from me and the worst shovel talk in the world from you."

Mimi poured herself another cup of coffee. "No shovel talks and no violence. I'll just have to give Paul a long chat about boundaries and safe sex. Possibly with a trip to the pharmacy to discuss practicalities."

Joe then decided not to ever try and play dirty with his mom. She was going to embarrass Paul worse than any petty threats from him.


	13. Chapter 13

Alex bit into the hotdog and savouring the taste. Here he was eating on a street corner with a boy who had lived in Manhattan all his life, but had never sampled this particular New York institution. The vendor chatted with Paul's bodyguard, both men immigrants from Venezuela and seemingly already firm friends. Alex finished the sausage and grinned. Paul was unsure of this snack, as he did not think of this as dinner suitable for a date.

The younger boy looked over Central Park and asked "So, why me, Paul?"

"I was a mess after that school. After about three weeks, I wished I'd talked to you. Gotten to know you. I contacted James, but he did not have your details. Finding out Dimitry was your BFF and he never let on to us you were alive, is just hard to stomach. You were our hero, but in a half forgotten abstract sense. I was not thinking of anyone that way. So, time skip, you went to live with Joe. A guy that does communicate with us all. I got to know about you via his emails and phone calls. I talked to you briefly, watched you on the news and I was a bit obsessed and confused. You were a guy and I liked you, more than as a friend. Totally at a loss, I told by Gran and she thought it was cute, got the fact I was sweet on you and decided to play matchmaker to get us together" Paul knew the odds were stacked against this being anything beyond a couple of dates, considering they lived in separate cities and the long list of issues Mimi had laid out. "She does not know about the bad stuff that happened in Russia, you and that bastard in Siberia. She's under the illusion you're a sad untouched virgin like me."

"Sad? No, we slept in the same bed last night. More than boyfriends, not quite lovers. We moved way past dating already. I felt your boner this morning. So, is it merely infatuation or are you just gay for me, or really into guys like I am. Just a warning, I knew I was a lost cause after I fancied an absolute bastard called Cossack. I don't want nice or kind or lovey-dovey. I want controlling, hard and brutal. Be a shit to me and I'll love you all the more."

"So, no dates to the zoo, just throw you on a bed and have my way with you, like a very bad romance novel?"

"Romance is not me. Touch, sensation, pleasure; those are things I understand. Live for the now, Paul, cause knowing me it'll all go to shit tomorrow." Alex wondered if he was being too honest. Love was obsession and Paul just had to take what he wanted.

Paul binned his half eaten hot dog, knowing he would only ever eat one again if Alex insisted on such a unappetising snack. "So, everyone else is out to lunch, lets go back since we've eaten. I need instruction, as I've just got the hang of snogging."

….

Paul's room was neat and clean. Housekeeping had already changed the sheets. Alex stood and then asked "Did Mom do the whole talk with you?"

"Talk about boundaries and understanding you don't have any considering the abuse and then the full detailed description of safe sex. How does a heterosexual middle aged woman know about homosexual oral and anal sex? She also bought me lube and an industrial size box of condoms." Paul was blushing bright red, remembering the trip to the pharmacy. "Is all that necessary because of your TB?"

"Shit, maybe. TB is completely shit, but I'm not contagious anymore. Just for the record, I'm clean, no STD's. They tested me for everything in Turkey, considering I only mucked about with Kolya. He was careful, shit scared of the clap. One reason he only fucked virgins." Alex then started to strip, he was going to have a bath with Paul, to get him comfortable with his body and to confirm if he was really gay. "Lets play doctor in the bath. Then we can snog all afternoon in the den." The sixteen year old smiled cockily, at Paul's nervous demenour "You are not going to disappoint. I felt your package this morning, you are well endowed and I can't wait to touch you."

…..

Mimi arrived aback at 3, a touch merry from three glasses of champagne. She missed New York, her friends and even though she loved public service, she missed corporate law. She heard the familiar music and sounds of one of the Star Wars movies playing in the den and peeked in, to see her son and his boyfriend snuggled up close, wearing loose scruffy clothes and totally unaware of anything except each other. Alex had obviously gotten his way, no fancy restaurants, no art or up market date, just getting comfortable together. Alex was settling in, comfortable in his own skin, allowing himself to be happy as he was.

Alex smiled and kissed Paul, and stood up asking "Wanna drink? I'm thirsty. Tea?"

"Sparkling water with lime, no ice." Paul then saw Mimi by the door "Ma'am, how was your lunch?"

"Excellent, I'm going for a bath. Enjoy your alone time. I still do with Charles."

Paul Roscoe thought on that, the Canterburys had been a couple for over thirty years. His grandmother had become a widow after 27 years of a tumultuous union, good and bad. His own parents had only managed 12 years and had been separated for the last two years. His mother had not divorced as her prenup had been airtight and she liked the lifestyle, even if her husband lived like a monk. Carpe Diem as Alex insisted, happiness was fleeting.

Joe and the gang arrived home to see his brother asleep on the sofa, Paul stroking his hair and his mom watching some BBC drama. A pizza box on the coffee table. The lanky teen smiled, Alex was not a downtown guy and Paul was slumming it to make his boyfriend happy. Maybe this wasn't going to end in disaster after all. Two guys healing each other.

Dieter and James had gone to pack. Cassian brought in mugs of cocoa with marshmallows, the California playing mom tonight. Joe sipped his drink and would be blogging tonight on this most excellent holiday.

….

The contact report was boring. Better than his last job in Fallijah, this was just recon, no cleaning involved. Why the Bank was interested in a bunch of privileged rich kids he would never know? The Roscoe heir had a serious security set up, so it had meant he had upped his game, keep back and just note anything unusual. There had been another tail at the beginning of the week. PI, he guessed. Probably hired by Sprintz, he was another paranoid bastard, keeping close tabs on his kid. What a circus, when one billionaire had hired in an ex-cop to make sure the other billionaire's security was up to scratch.

He was sick of sitting in cars, walking for hours and staking out a building from the rooftop opposite with shitty lines of sight. Nothing was happening, nor was going to happen. Behind him someone lit a cigarette with a zippo lighter. The SAS man turned slowly onto his back, his hands clearly in view, to see a guy dressed in a grey suit with a garish stripped Brooks Brothers tie. He was obviously stepping on the Firm's toes. "OK, I'm just doing surveillance. Scope, camera, no hardware, honest."

The man shrugged and blew smoke out of his nose. "You have 12 hours to leave the country. Consider yourself persona non grata. Tell Ms. Jones that the kid is off the books. We have agreed a full medical disqualification with the Russians, no exceptions. If you continue this survellience, you may end up drawing the attention of the kid's very psycho protector, Cossack. You may have heard of him. He doesn't play nice."

The guy stubbed out his cigarette and left. The twelve hour window gave him just enough time to clear house and use his agreed escape route to get to Canada.

…..

Alex woke early, the nightmare about Point Blanc had been disturbing, a slight variation on the recurring theme, tonight he had been getting dissected by his friends not the clones. The sixteen year old picked up his journal and wrote down all the details. Then decided to reread his self help book "How to win Friends and influence People" considering this edition was ancient, it was helping Alex communicate and empathise, not just think everyone was out to get him or wanted something from him. Paul had declined sex, several times. They had bathed together, but whatever Joe and Mimi had said had spooked his boyfriend into being a very good boy. He'd wanted to get Paul communicating with him. Now, he had way much more than just an ally, he just had to keep him sweet and learn to tolerate dating. He decided to write Paul a letter.

 _I have no idea about dating or relatinships. I can only stay what I like. Walks in the Park with you. Swimming, sunbathing and drinks by the pool. Reading together. These are things I find cool. Watching TV is better than the cinema. Forgive me, but I need a shit load more therapy before I'll relax in any dark enclosed spaces. Music, classical is better than jazz, but I have no idea about pop, rock or chart stuff. Yes I like opera and ballet. Sport is good. I like baseball, but I'm still learning the rules. Soccer is the only form of football I recognise. Love hockey, go Dynamo. Food, you need to come to the Farm and eat Grandma's food. Sandwiches in their many forms from hamburgers to quesadillas are my favourite food. So, what rocks your world?_

Like a ninja, the teenager put his note under Paul's door then went into the den. He set up the chessboard and started a game. He had kept himself entertained this way for hours in Russia, when insomnia kept him awake. He missed the chess solutions printed in the Paper in Russia. He was not the boy he had been, his time there had shaped and changed him. It had not all been bad. Dima had been an arse, but his reactions had been understandable. Alex was still an outsider, he was allowed to be one here, encouraged and accepted dispute the fact he was not normal, had never been normal and was never going to be that type of person.

He was mulling over his opening move when Joe stumbled into the room and grunted "Thought you'd snuck into Paul's room. Can't sleep?"

"Ya think, Sherlock? Want to play?" Alex said cheekily

"Sure I bet I can lose in five moves or less."


	14. Chapter 14

Joe had a new favourite pastime, watching Alex sleep. It would all stop, when his new brother got over his double whammy of TB and the shit drugs he was on to cure him. The protective big brother had read up on those drugs, whose side effects were numerous and debilitating. Alex had already had one trip to hospital over vomiting caused by his antibiotics. The three day unplanned hiatus also made it more likely Alex could develop drug resistant strain of this killer disease. Not that the illness had much of an impact on the family.

His mom and dad still worked hard, that had not changed, but they made sure to incorporate time for Joe as if to compensate for the disruption caused by the newcomer and his baggage. Only, Alex was easy, happy to be at home or at the farm, following orders like he was conditioned to in Russia. Joe was positive that Alex had grown up looking after himself as neither his uncle or that housekeeper had been traditional caregivers in any sense, one neglectful and machiavellian and the other barely managing as best she could. The biggest disruption so far had been the absence of Connie and the fact the big bad Widow Canterbury was filling in. Grandmother was scary, with eyes in the back of her head and a woman that believed sparing the rod, spoiled the child. It was still Joe's suspicion it had been her hand behind sending him to get corrected at Point Blanc Academy. Joe could not wait for the return of the bad tempered Cuban American and her truly excellent quesadillas. Roll on the end of her sick leave, due back at the end of August. For the first time in his life, Joe had a reason to pray and pray hard. Keep Alex safe, get him well and please please please send Grandmother back to Pennsylvania, or better still outer Mongolia.

He looked at the darkening sky through the train window. They would be home for ten. His mother was sipping her diet pepsi and reading a new novel. Still on holiday mode, so not working! Who was this woman? Joe could not point fingers as he had not even opened the Computing Magazine he had purchased at Pennsylvania Station, which was also unheard of. He wondered if any prayers for Alex would be answered, considering his brother considered religion to be phooey and both of them were not good boys to begin with.

…..

Alex looked in the full length mirror in his closet. Stood naked to inspect all faults and blemishes. He could see he had put on weight, grown a bit, looked healthier overall. He would run with Dad tomorrow morning, more jog than the marathons he'd accomplished in Russia on the treadmill or circuits around the base. He had reconnected with friends, he knew he could trust the guys from Point Blanc; but there was a shadow of a doubt. He had enjoyed time with Paul, but he was unsure about dating. What was he meant to do, feel, be comfortable with? He let out a breath and then started on his katas to quieten the emotional storm. He had to keep his reflexes sharp, had to be fit for fight or flight; to protect the Canterbury's. He did repartitions for forty minutes then collapsed on the bed exhausted. He wrote in his journal, keeping a record of the exercise and his confusion. He would rather hurt Paul's feelings than exploit them. The plan came first, get well, get blacklisted, network, make more friends. He had more than an hours' worth of questions for Luke tomorrow.

Charles was surprised to see Alex waiting by the kitchen door at 5:30. The soldier could see he was ready to run. "Wanting to stretch those legs?" His son nodded. The General did his stretches and watched Alex do the same. "I run around a two mile circuit, sometimes once, sometimes several times. Moderate, fast then full pelt. So, today I'll vary my route to one with no hills. Only 20 minutes for you though, easy. No over straining yourself. If you see any bogies let me know."

Alex was back all too soon and going through a brief cool down watched by his father. He then spoke for the first time "I want to run and run, like I did in Russia. It was the only time I was sort of free to think and escape the claustrophobia of my father or my guardian. Winters there suck, except for skiing. I might need extra sessions with Luke. I'm not as settled in as you guys think." Alex bit his thumb nail. "I know there is no punishment for failure, but I don't know how to think or feel anymore. Without the strict controls, I feel rudderless; like I'm floundering. I snuck out to Paul's room and Mimi was OK with it because I went to talk. It's confusing and I know it's me that has the problems, because I had no freedom at all before and you just want me happy and healthy. I don't know what happiness is. I was a lonely kid growing up, no one ever considered my happiness before as it wasn't a prioity. Fuck… sorry, finish your run. I need to write another ten or so pages in my journal and put a dollar in the potty mouth jar."

Charles Canterbury reached out and touched the soft blond hair, then pulling his son into a hug. "Sounds like teenage angst, son. You've had a rough road to get here, but boundaries are for crossing, curfews for breaking and being a rebel is kind of cool. I'll make mistakes, so will Mimi, but trust me it's OK. You are family, we have grown to love you; so has Joe in his own bull headed, big brother way. Now get inside, write your essay to bug the doc with and I'll cook us an early breakfast. I can run extra tomorrow."

…

Joe was full on snoring above his younger brother. All Alex could think was bunk beds and having insomnia sucked. Alex stood up and pulled on a t-shirt, a track suit and his trainers. He opened the screen on the window, stood on the porch roof, clipped the screen back into place and then climbed down to go for a proper run in the cool predawn grey. He ran down towards Harrisburg, three miles until the junction with the main road. There he saw a dirty SUV with Belinda's dad behind the wheel. He waved and the car window was lowered, the guy drawled "This is one hard place to find. Could not find it yesterday and I thought it was best not to ask directions considering you were grabbed last month. Started early not to get spotted by the nosy neighbours. Get in and I'll give you a ride back."

The car was full of books, maps, coffee cups and snack wrappers. Alex could see the guy had been to Miami, Washington, Virginia and New York, possibly several times. They pulled up to the nineteenth century farm house and Alex went straight into the kitchen at the rear. He put the coffee pot on, pulled out the tupperware of snacks baked specially for the new family addition. Left from yesterday were half a dozen lemon and poppy seed muffins. One sweet thing Alex actually liked. The old guy came in and sat at the table, taking in the details, looking at the hand built units from the sixties at a guess, various icknacks from generations lived in this house, hand made curtains, a refrigerator from the seventies and a stove from the sixties. All Lived in, loved.

"Are your grandparents up?" The man asked, wondering why the house seemed so quiet.

"Up and gone. Showing their prize bull off to a potential buyer over in New Jersey, be back around nine tonight. We have a neat stack of pack-ups with labels and instructions. So, how'd ya like your coffee, Mr. Troy."

"Black." The man realised he might have overstepped his bounds coming here, disturbing a kid who had only recently returned home, if he'd done his background recon correctly. "Two months since you returned. Feel like home yet?"

"Yes and no. Part of me thinks I'll always feel like an outsider. I'm not as jumpy. I have on good authority that I won't be snatched again. The CIA have been playing hard ball, I assume. It was in the papers that Blunt got the sack. No pension, no knighthood, nothing. My heart bleeds."

"Blunt?"

Alex paused, to tell or not to tell. Not like confessing all to grieving ex-cop was going to do any harm. "Blackmailing bastard who ran MI6 Special Operations. The man responsible for my two years and three months in hell." Alex stood by the coffee machine waiting for it to finish; pouring two cups out, he put down one in front of the ex-cop before sitting down himself. "So, the truth. Belinda was cut from the same cloth as the men in suits denying she ever worked for the CIA. She knew I was not there voluntarily, but was still happy enough playing happy families, with no back up. I was left high and dry when it all went wrong." Alex sighed. "She did not deserve to die, but Sarov and Conrad were nuclear terrorists. I… I was there when Sarov chose to see reason and disarmed a very dirty bomb in Murmansk. Your daughter was playing a high stakes game to prevent a nuclear catastrophe. My freedom and their lives were worth that cost. We stopped that bomb going off and millions dying. I was willing to spend my life, to die, in a gulag to stop Sarov, to save my friends. If you want proof, go to Moscow and get an interview with Andrei Alexandrov or Boris Kiriyenko." Alex drank from his cooling cup of Viennese blend and ate a muffin from the box. Without Fran there, there was no need for napkins, forks or plates.

Sonny had not expected that, was he mistaken thinking the russians were sort of allies now, "A bomb in Murmansk?"

"The submarine base was a graveyard to the Red Banner Fleet nuclear submarines. Tones of decommissioned fissile material sitting there. The cloud of fallout would have taken out most of Europe. Sarov got his goal, destabilising the administration in Russia. Kiriyenko was forced to step down and hard liners with FSB backing took over. Democracy on paper, but Russia learned its lesson. If it had been your daughter who stopped the bomb in Russia, she would have disappeared. I only survived because I was fourteen, but they still interrogated me for a month and I spent the next year playing moderating influence on Sarov during his house arrest. When he died, they tried integrating me into school, there, but I saw no way out. I tried to kill myself. It took them another eight months to send me back cause the Brits denied I existed."

….

Joe stood in the doorway, listening to the old guy reminisce about his daughter. The situation was completely strange, except this was Alex and the ex-spy excelled at strange.

Alex stood up and went to the stove "Pancakes, J?"

"Sure, I seem to recall we both endured the talk on staying in, not getting into trouble and not inviting strangers to breakfast." Joe was sure Alex would be grounded for the rest of the summer, only his brother was the king of acceptable excuses, after sleeping with that ratfink Paul and getting away with it because of his issues.

"Joe this is Mr. Troy. My brother, he's not party to spooky stuff, mostly. So no more questions about Cuba." The cook poured batter onto the hotplate and made the third breakfast in silence.

Joe pulled the OJ out of the refrigerator, got a glass and sat down to stare at the stranger; as his brother cooked up a storm. The curious teenager asked "CIA?"

"No, thank Christ. Detective, serious crimes in Chicago, retired. My daughter made that dubious choice of being a spy. Died in 2001. Alexander was kind enough to tell me what happened to Belinda and that it mattered. Your brother needs looking after, make sure those bastards leave him alone. I should be going. Thanks for the breakfast. If you need anything, a place to stay, a helping hand, even a reference. Don't hesitate to call. Mi casa su casa, OK bud." With that the old guy, filled up his travel mug with coffee, took the offered remaining muffins and left.

There was silence as Alex served up and Joe shovelled pancake into his mouth, pondering how this guy had found Alex here.

Skillet wiped down, dishwasher loaded and his third mug of coffee poured, the teenage spy sat down and let the tension bleed out of him. He had kind of hated Troy and Turner then, probably he still did, also Byrne, Blunt, Crawley and Jones, even Ian, but not Yassen or the Russians. How screwed up was he?

Joe was stood next to him, trying to rub circles on his back. "Its OK, Sasha baby. That weird guys gone. No one to hurt you. Its safe, ish, I guess." The older brother was at a loss dealing with a full meltdown. He guessed Alex was finally confronting all the crap and felt safe enough to let his guard down. "Fuck, staying in. Let's go into York. Get pizza or burger. Go see a stupid girly film or a comedy with no violence or spies or assassin-dudes."

In the barn was the ancient Ford, bought for him to practice driving around. With their pooled allowance, they had enough money for junk food, cinema tickets, gas for the car they were about to borrow. Alex got the thing started after the wreck initially failed to turn over. Joe had his junior driver's licence, having taken his test last December. He still felt strange not driving with mom or dad, like he was stealing cars again. Sweaty palms and the great feeling of rebellion, it had been over two years since his arrest.

…..

Alex smiled thinking of the stupidity of that Pirate film. They were nearly home when flashing blue caused the pair to pull over.

"Joe, Sasha?" Queried the County Sheriff.

"Yeah?"

"Your neighbour reported you guys missing at lunch, but I see you went to the movies." The Sheriff was smiling, like he knew all the answers and the folly that overprotectiveness and teenage boys did not compute, considering Joe had a rebellious streak a mile wide.

"How much trouble are we in?" asked Joe, worried about planned parties and outings when they got back to DC, with the certainty of being grounded forever if he dared get arrested again.

"None, really. Just glad it's a false alarm. It's the holidays, this is your car Joe, you were still in the vicinity. You're both over 16. It's not like I called in the State Troopers or the Feds. You know my two boys, Joe. Those guys hate being cooped up and treating them like little kids drives them crazy as well. I'll ring Mitch and tell him you just drove into York to see a movie, no sweat."

"Think we got away with it?", the older teenager asked his smirking passenger.

"No, Mitch will tell on us. Just blame me and mention you needed to cheer me up and we'll only be on extra chores, not facing the wrath of the parents." Alex felt good for the first time in weeks. An adventure, but not the life-threatening kind, just being normal teenagers. He was functioning within normal parameters. This was what life was meant to be like.


	15. Chapter 15

Epilogue

The Head of SIS reread the file passed to him by the US Embassy. All confirming suspicions over Special Operations mismanagement, corroborating concerns passed to him by the FSB. The Black Ops Division based at the Royal and General Bank operated outside Government Channels for plausible deniability, with only very loose ties to MI6. He now had to clear house to keep their allies happy. In 2001, a teenager had been successfully used for three operations. After a problem with the triads, Blunt leant the same child out to the American's equivalent, in Cuba of all places, to spy on a Russian exile. Highly illegal, it stank to high heaven but most in his position, had no qualms and fewer morals.

The Russians had played their hand perfectly to keep the kid out of the great game, only for Blunt to attempt a swap. General Sarov had died and for nearly two years, they had no idea what had befallen Aleksandr Sarov, then the sixteen year old had been traded back to the Americans.

The fact Alan Blunt had used a teenager, involving the Russian's was not the problem. Trying to eliminate a loose end, no matter how young was expected. Operating illegal operations in the US and getting caught was, however, not. Someone had sent the CIA a gift; a mercenary, who had sung like a canary about being paid to kidnap, torture and break the sixteen year old Sarov. An internal audit had now uncovered a real paper trail of payments between the mercenaries to Blunt. The big problem was that young Aleksandr was now the adopted son of a Senator and a US Army General serving in the Pentagon. Blowback from this could destabilise the whole security of Great Britain.

The easiest solution was a short illness and early retirement. A closer audit over Blunt's tenure was also justified. Too bad, Blunt had slipped up and the man had been muted to be his own replacement next year. Alan was still well connected to the right sought of people, he would just have to make a new life for himself on the Boards of few Quangos. The threat assessment from Byrne over Gregorovich was put in the shredder. If Blunt had an unfortunate accident in the near future, that would be better for all concerned.

…..

The story continues in Sleeper Awakens.


End file.
